Survivors
by SwissMiss1
Summary: Written pre-DH, AU. Hermione Granger, Professor for the History of Magic, sets out on a quest to prove that Snape isn't the evil Death Eater everyone still thinks he is...and finds more than she bargained for. HGSS. Over 100,000 hits! Thanks!
1. Chapter 1 Mudblood on the Staff

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**CHAPTER 1**

**A Mudblood on the Staff**

_Just what we need, a Mudblood on the staff. As if it weren't bad enough that the old bag had hauled the wolf back up here. No, she had to hire a bloody Muggleborn to boot. And to cap it all, not any old Mudblood, but that insufferable "petite amie de Potter"._

Severus Snape knocked back his coffee and threw the cup into the sink with such force that it shattered. He barely noticed. The house-elves would clean up the mess. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Calm. Control. Focus. Anger was fine, anger was appropriate, but there was no need to enter the staff meeting gunning for a fight. Not that he'd be shy about letting everyone know how he felt about the Headmistress's latest appointment. But it should be done from a position of cool superiority.

Suddenly snapping his eyes open, as if returning from a trance, Snape turned on the heel of his black leather boots and strode out of his dungeon chamber, black robes billowing in his wake.

xOxOxOx

"Miss Granger-- I mean, Professor Granger," little Professor Flitwick squeaked, "how very, very pleased I am to welcome you to the staff of Hogwarts. To welcome you back, I mean! Very pleased indeed!" The Charms teacher pumped Hermione's hand enthusiastically, his face practically obscured by his smile. "I always knew you had it in you, always knew it!"

"Thank you, Professor Flitwick," Hermione grinned down at him. It felt good to be welcomed so warmly, to be immediately accepted as an equal, especially by a wizard she respected as much as Flitwick.

"Filius, my dear, call me Filius!" he bubbled.

"Hermione!" A softer, slightly hoarse voice called her attention to a lean man in a baggy suit standing near the window of the staff room.

"Professor Lupin!" Hermione breathed, her heart leaping. Remus Lupin had been one of her favorite teachers when she had been a student, not to mention a great friend to her, Ron, and especially Harry.

Remus quickly closed the distance between them and embraced his former pupil. Hermione could feel how thin he was through the layers of worn material, how wasted he had become. His illness took more of a toll every year, yet his eyes were still kind, still vivid.

"It's Remus now," he corrected her, "seeing as we're colleagues. Let me have a look at you." He held Hermione at arm's length, his eyes twinkling. He took in the heart-shaped face, the softly round figure beneath the dark blue robes, the long braid of kinky light brown hair hanging over her right shoulder. "Do you know, I don't think you've aged one bit!" he concluded.

Hermione laughed. "It's only been five years!"

"Has it been that long?" Remus asked, scratching his own thinning brown hair in mock confusion. "Seems like only yesterday that you, Ron and Harry were cleaning my blackboards during detention!"

"You never give detentions! You're too much of a softie!" Hermione shot back, her throat momentarily tightening at the mention of Harry, but she had no time for reflection just then, as a dark voice growled behind them, "Yes, Remus does have rather a soft spot for misfits."

Remus and Hermione turned toward the door, where Snape had appeared, his lip curled in an expression of disgust.

_How touching. The mongrel and the Mudblood, pawing each other already. _

"Good morning, Severus," Remus replied cordially.

Hermione didn't say anything, just stared at the unpleasant-looking figure in the doorway: Her least favorite teacher, the Potions Master Severus Snape. Well, she was beyond his reach now, she thought with relief and defiance. No more docking her House points for having the right answer, no more intimidating her friends into failure, no more pointless detentions. She might have to work at the same institution as he, but she definitely did not have to have anything whatsoever to do with the man.

Snape didn't respond to Remus, preferring rather to step to the far side of the long table which stood in the middle of the room, and at which Professors Sprout and Sinistra were already seated. He pulled out the chair next to Sinistra and placed it a good ways back from the table before sitting down in it, stonily glaring straight ahead at nothing at all.

Remus looked at Hermione, slightly apologetic, as he pulled out a chair for her. She took it and continued to receive welcomes from the rest of the staff as they filed into the room. The first staff meeting of the new school year had been scheduled for 10 am, but it appeared that even this was a stretch for some; Professor Vector scurried in, hat askew, a large flask of coffee in one hand and parchments flying out of the bundle she carried in the other, just seconds before Professor McGonagall entered and surveyed the assembled teachers with an appraising eye over her granny glasses.

The years were catching up with her as well, as Hermione had already noted during her hiring interview. McGonagall's hair was well-hidden beneath the pointed hat perched neatly on her head, but what was visible at her temples was grey and thin. The lines on her face were more deeply etched, her skin more translucent. Yet she, too, still walked with a spry step and took in everything with bright, vigilant eyes.

"Good morning," she said, gracing them all with a smile and closing the door behind her. "I see we are nearly all here. Very good." She stood at the head of the table and dropped a pile of parchments onto it. "I think we should start right away, I'm not sure whether--"

At that moment, the door opened and Angelina Johnson slipped in, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Drops of water clung to the ends of her short, black hair and she looked pale, as though she had just woken up.

"Professor Johnson, how good of you to join us," McGonagall simpered.

"Sorry," Angelina whispered, grimacing, and slipped into the seat beside Hermione.

Hermione smiled warmly at Angelina. Angelina had been at Hogwarts for a year already, as flying instructor and Quidditch coach, after a successful, albeit brief, semi-professional career with the Birmingham Bruisers. Hermione hadn't known Angelina too well during her time at school, as the Gryffindor Chaser had been two years ahead of her, but she was especially glad that there was another teacher here from her generation. She wouldn't necessarily have liked being the only kid on the block. And maybe she and Angelina would become friends. That would be nice.

"Well, that should be all of us; I don't expect that Sibyll has foreseen the need to attend this meeting," McGonagall ascertained and began distributing scrolls of parchment to everyone.

There was much rustling and murmuring as the parchments made their way around the table.

"First off, I would like to welcome you all back for another year. I say welcome back, including to you, Hermione." She nodded and smiled kindly at her before continuing to address the rest of the teachers. "Although this is her first year as an instructor, I'm sure we all remember Miss Granger as one of the most outstanding students of recent memory--"

_Outstandingly annoying._

"--and I am exceedingly pleased that she has agreed to take over the History of Magic classes from Professor Binns."

Hermione had to smile at that. Professor McGonagall had told her the story of how Professor Binns had suddenly realized, in the middle of a lecture on the Druidic Interlude of 650-678, that he was, in fact, dead. He had drifted directly up to the Headmistress's office (the students didn't notice that he had left until the end-of-period bell rang) and demanded, incensed, to be released from teaching duties at once. An hour later, he had been on his way to Provence, and hadn't been heard from since, although Sir Nicholas had mentioned a couple of months later that he had recently been informed of an elderly ghost haunting the beach cabanas in Nice. "Nothing but a juvenile peeping Tom, if you ask me," he had huffed.

Professor McGonagall had been forced to take over his classes for the remainder of the school year, in addition to her duties as Headmistress and Professor for Transfiguration, which had put her in a state of near-collapse. She had therefore been overjoyed to receive Hermione's application for the position. Professor McGonagall had confided in Hermione that hers was, in point of fact, the only application which she had received, but she had every confidence that Hermione would do a splendid job, and she would have chosen her even if there had been a hundred other applicants.

"Now, you will find here the calendar for the school year," Professor McGonagall was saying, "including the dates of the four Hogsmeade weekends, which I will need three volunteers each to supervise: One Head of House and two additional teachers."

"Do you want to take the first one with me?" Angelina whispered to Hermione. "I'd like to get it out of the way before the Quidditch season really gets going."

"Sure," Hermione shrugged, happy for the suggestion. It looked like Angelina was also trying to make friends.

At exactly the same moment that Angelina said, "Hermione and I will take the first week-end," Snape sighed in a put-upon way, "Very well, put me down for the first one, then I can have the blasted thing behind me."

Snape glared at Angelina. "I said _I_ will take the first week-end."

_Snotty little Gryffindors. Barely out of school and already thinking they're on a par with their superiors. _

"Fine," Minerva said, making a quick note. "That's Severus, Angelina, and Hermione for October. Who will take December?" She looked around expectantly.

Snape sat up straighter and frowned. "Minerva, you can't expect me to supervise along with those two...Gryffindors." The moniker sounded like a swear word in his mouth.

Minerva gave Snape a cold look. "Staff members are not assigned duties according to their previous House affiliation, Severus, as you well know. We generally leave behind such petty divisions in the adult world. However, as a Head of House, I require you to be in charge of one weekend per year. Professors Johnson and Granger will assist you. December?" She looked around again, the subject apparently closed for her.

"I'll do it, Minerva," Remus volunteered.

"Will that fit into your...schedule?" McGonagall asked in what was apparently supposed to be a tactful manner, referring to Lupin's recurrent bouts of indisposal due to his lycanthropy.

"Yes, I'll be fine," Remus assured her with a tired sigh.

"You can put me down, too," said Professor Grubbly-Plank.

While McGonagall continued to fill in the schedule, Hermione stole a look at Snape. He had pulled his chair even further back from the table and was now slouched back with his arms crossed over his chest, his head bowed so that his long black hair fell over his face. She could swear that she could hear him grinding his teeth. She exchanged a raised-eyebrow look and a shrug with Angelina.

_Bloody old hag. She's just like Albus...without the charisma. Thinks she can manipulate me, serving me her leftover kindness and expecting lapdog behaviour in return. Salazar would spit on me if he saw what has become of me. I spit on myself._


	2. Chapter 2 First Day

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**CHAPTER 2**

**First Day**

"How was your first day?" Remus asked, taking the seat beside Hermione at the Head Table.

"Fun!" Hermione enthused. "I mean, we didn't really cover anything today, but I think everyone's really excited about some of the things I have planned. I'm going to have the Fourth-years put together a dramatic re-enactment of the Salem Witch Trials."

"The entire Fourth year?" Remus raised his eyebrows

"Yes, I think the Houses should be encouraged to work together more," Hermione said, digging into her bean salad.

"Good luck on that," Remus said.

"Hi, guys," Angelina said, breathing heavily as she plopped down next to Hermione. She had apparently just been flying: she had goggles pushed up onto her forehead, one hand was still clad in a leather glove, her cheeks were red, and a whiff of cold air and fresh greenery hung about her.

"You needn't have rushed, there's plenty for everyone," Hermione teased.

"Argh, I know, I hate always being late!" Angelina griped, tucking right in to the scalloped potatoes. "I just want to grab a bite so I can get back out there before the sun sets. I promised Halloway I'd give her a few pointers on her flying tonight."

"Halloway?" Hermione queried.

"Hufflepuff Captain," Angelina answered around a mouthful of potatoes. "Nice girl, awesome aim, just completely insecure."

"You're right about her aim," Remus interjected with a grin. "She managed to disarm _me_ once last year when we were practicing the _Expelliarmus_!"

"Well, that wouldn't be difficult," a deep, velvety voice drawled from a little farther down the table on the other side of Angelina. The three of them turned to see Snape neatly impale a slice of potato with his fork and raise it to his thin, colorless lips.

"You've never managed it, Severus," Remus said cheerfully.

"You've never faced me, Lupin," Snape replied calmly, allowing his tongue to curl around the name in a very nearly obscene way.

"Nor would I wish to," Remus returned deferentially.

"Wise answer." Snape continued to chew his food in silence, his gaze fixed out somewhere in the middle of the Great Hall, which was by now filled with boisterous students.

"He just gets nicer every year," Angelina murmured to Hermione and Remus.

"He's had a difficult journey," Remus shrugged apologetically.

"So have you!" Hermione replied indignantly. "I'm sorry," she quickly amended, placing her hand on Remus's shoulder.

"It's quite all right," Remus said with a sad smile, patting her hand. "I think we all have our crosses to bear, so to speak. But poor Severus has borne more than most...and not broken because of it. I think we have to give him that."

"If that one ain't broken, I don't want to know what is," Angelina snorted, then gulped down an entire glass of pumpkin juice in one.

_Snots. Stuck-up, patronizing, arrogant twits. Bloody Gryffindors._

Finding that his appetite was now completely spoiled (as it was every time he was forced to dine in the presence of others), Snape stood up abruptly, threw his napkin down into the unfinished food, and glided away.

"Really, Remus, must you and Severus go at each other every time you and he are in the same room?" Minerva admonished, talking over the top of Professor Flitwick's head.

"He started it!" Remus protested, hurt. "And I thought I handled it pretty well."

"Yes, well, it's not a good example to set for the students, Heads of House constantly bickering," she replied primly.

"I assure you, Minerva, if Severus would refrain from sniping at me every chance he gets, we could all be the best of friends."

"Let's make an extra effort this year, shall we? If only for the sake of Professor Granger. We wouldn't want her to get the impression that this is an unpleasant place to work." She smiled warmly at Hermione.

"Oh, I get it!" Remus laughed. "You're just worried you might get stuck with taking over History of Magic again!"

"Oh, I would never leave my post, no matter how unpleasant it was!" Hermione rushed to assure Minerva. "I mean-- I mean, of course I love it here!" she quickly corrected herself. "It's not unpleasant at all! Professor Snape... I know how he is, and believe me, it's much, much, more pleasant now, when I only have to see him at mealtimes."

Minerva sighed. "I know. Poor Severus. Albus really took him under his wing. I think they had a special sort of friendship. I've tried to be that for him, too, but I'm afraid I've failed miserably. He still sees me as some sort of rival, the Head of Gryffindor House or something. Perhaps that is his true quarrel with you, Remus?" Minerva suggested, somewhat hopefully. "House honour and all that?"

"I'm afraid not, Minerva," Remus sighed. "You know all about our history. No, it's a very personal grudge. One that I'm not sure I can ever rectify."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Reem," Angelina said, standing up and grabbing a handful of nuts from the bowl on the table. "Snape's not worth it." She popped several of the nuts into her mouth. "Buck up, eh? Don't let him get to you." She patted him on the back bracingly and strode off.

xOxOxOx

_Idiots! Talking about me as if I weren't even there. Oh yes, they had made a show of trying to be discreet, but it was obvious what they thought of me: _Poor Severus_. If I had a Knut for every time I'd heard 'poor Severus', my bank vault would be a damn sight fuller than it is. Well, after all, I am pathetic, aren't I. _

Snape poured himself a steaming cup of his own blend of Calming Infusion and settled back into his chair, staring into the fire cracking in the hearth before him.

_And so another year begins. Another dreary, intolerable year of impertinence, incompetence, and general stupidity. If I were a stronger man, I'd kill myself and spare everyone the trouble. If I were a stronger man...Albus might still be alive._

He bowed his head and... couldn't cry.

xOxOxOx

"So tell me, what do you hear from Ron?" Remus asked, handing Hermione a glass of mellowed mead.

"He sent me an owl just last week, actually, congratulating me on my job." _And warning me to steer clear of Snape. As if I needed to be told twice._ "He was in Sweden, picking up some Midsummer's poles."

"Bit late for Midsummer merchandise, isn't it?" Remus took a seat on the armchair opposite Hermione. They were in his private quarters adjacent to the Gryffindor common room, the same chambers that had been occupied by Professor McGonagall during her tenure as Head of Gryffindor House.

"That's why he was getting them on discount," Hermione informed him with a saucy grin.

"Of course." Remus smiled into his glass.

They were both silent for a moment, both of their thoughts clearly drifting to the third member of the famous trio: Harry.

After a moment, Remus cleared his throat and gave Hermione a small smile. "Well."

"Well," Hermione echoed in a small voice, intently studying the play of refracted light in her mead.

"To the triumphant," Remus said, raising his own glass a little.

Hermione looked up. Remus's eyes were shiny, as were her own. "The triumphant," Hermione agreed and took a large sip.


	3. Chapter 3 Hagrid

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**CHAPTER 3**

**Hagrid**

"Hermione!" Hagrid's voice boomed out across the lawn when he opened his door.

"Hagrid!" Hermione answered, her joyful expression at being reunited with her half-giant friend mirroring the look on his own countenance.

Hagrid's face suddenly crumpled. "Aw, Hermione," he spluttered, grabbing the young woman and pulling her to his massive belly with both of his huge arms. She could feel his bulk shaking before she could hear the first great sobs roaring through his lungs.

"Er...Hagrid," Hermione managed in a strangled voice, her face squashed into his waistcoat.

Hagrid continued to squeeze Hermione to him, lifting her feet completely off the ground as he began to slowly rock back and forth in his grief.

Hermione threw her head back. "Hagrid!" she cried, vainly flapping her hands, which were pinned at her sides. She was unable to match his volume. The smell of wet boarhound and woodsmoke was quite overpowering. She finally resorted to kicking at his shins with her dangling feet.

Hagrid finally looked down at Hermione, his face covered in tear streaks. Two great drops fell from the apple of his cheek onto Hermione's forehead and dribbled down into her eye.

"Hagrid, could you put me down, please?" Hermione gasped, squinting at the sting of the salt.

"Wha'? Oh, yeh, yeh, sure thin', Hermione, sorry 'bout tha'. Guess I jus' go' a li'l carried away there." He released his grip on her. She was just able to catch herself from falling to her knees. Hagrid took out an enormous mauve handkerchief and blew his nose like a trumpet.

"Well, come in then, come in," he urged her, mopping off his face. "Heard yeh'd arrived, didn' know when yeh'd have time ter see me, though, thought I'd let yeh settle in firs'."

"It was a busy first week," Hermione admitted, entering the familiar Gamekeeper's hut.

"Yeah, it always is, till thin's get up an' runnin'," Hagrid agreed.

Inside the hut, Fang raised his greying head and sniffed in Hermione's direction from where he lay on Hagrid's bunk. Either he remembered her scent, or he decided she wasn't interesting enough, because he settled his muzzle back onto his paws and sighed noisily.

"Look, Fang, 'member Hermione?" Hagrid asked eagerly, reaching down to scratch the boarhound's ears. Fang whined noncommittally.

"Lookit, he 'members you!" Hagrid declared. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing toward one of the rough wooden chairs around the table in the middle of the room.

Hermione climbed up onto the seat and looked around. The more things changed...

Hagrid busily got out things for tea. "You must think I'm a righ' blubberpuss, the way I greeted yeh," he said with forced cheer. "Didn' mean to get carried away like tha'. It's jus'...yeh know..." He sighed mightily.

"I know, Hagrid, don't worry about it. I expect seeing me again brought back the memories."

"It did at that," Hagrid agreed. He sat down across from Hermione while they waited for the water to boil. "How're yeh?" he asked, with friendly concern, placing a hand the size of a dinner plate over Hermione's.

"I'm fine," she responded brightly, patting his hand back with her other one. "I mean, of course I miss him," she quickly added with a serious expression, "but I'm really enjoying being back. I wasn't sure...I thought it might be difficult, coming back here, but it's been excellent. Like coming home. And everyone's been simply wonderful: Minerva, Remus, Angelina, Filius, absolutely everyone." _Almost everyone. And even he's just part of the scenery. It wouldn't be Hogwarts without him._

"Yeah, I know ever'one was real excited when they heard yeh'd be coming here to teach. But tell me, Hermione, why History o' Magic? Bit dry, ain't it? Yeh were always such a whiz at spells an' stuff. Would'a thought yeh'd've gone for something a bit flashier. Transfiguration or Charms or somethin'."

"Those posts were already taken," Hermione pointed out. "And you know my favorite book was always _Hogwarts, A History_. I spent the last two years writing a paper--well, a book, really--" she modestly interjected, "on the historical trends in legislating wizard and non-human interactions. It was the basis for my promotion to Witch Magistra."

"Uh-huh," Hagrid vocalized, mouth slightly open. The kettle over the fire started to rattle. Hagrid snapped back to attention and grabbed the kettle, poured the steaming brew into the mugs he had already set at the ready.

"So Hagrid, what've you been up to?" Hermione inquired politely, sensing that a discussion of the ethical implications of the codicil to the Goblin Laws of 1760 was not in the offing.

"Eh, bit o' this, bit o' that," Hagrid shrugged. "They didn' wan' me teachin' anymore after...well, after Dumbledore was gone an' all--"

"Oh Hagrid, I'm sure that's not true," Hermione protested loyally, although she suspected that it was, in fact.

Hagrid sighed again. "Tell yeh the truth, Hermione, me heart wasn't really in it anymore. Now, don't get me wrong, I loved workin' with the kids an' all-- well, most of 'em, anyways--" he added, giving Hermione a knowing wink, "but havin' to stick to Flobberworms an' Bowtruckles an' Knarls..." He made a long-suffering face.

Hermione grinned. "Well, the Blast-Ended Skrewts were a bit over the top, Hagrid, really!"

"I know, I shouldn't'a sprung something on yeh that I didn' have experience with meself. But yeh've gotta admit, the Hippogriff was pretty neat!"

"Yes, I admit that," Hermione smiled. "And quite useful, too, as it turned out."

"Yeah, ol' Buckbeak knew which side his bread was buttered on."

"You mean Witherwings," Hermione corrected him.

"He never really cottoned on to that name. Went back to Buckbeak after... afterwards."

"Is he still around?"

"Ah, no. Had to let 'im go. Oh, he drops in once in a while. Think he's got some kids now. Least he had a youngster in tow last spring."

Hermione nodded and gingerly tried her still-steaming drink. It tasted like chicken soup with cranberries. She swallowed and gave Hagrid a wobbly smile.

Hagrid smiled back, awkwardly. Then he asked, "So, uh, yeh heard about Ron settin' up his own place, did yeh? Finally outgrew that corner of Fred and George's shop."

"Oh, yes, he sent me an owl just before term started. We're still in loose touch. Do you see him much?"

"Oh yeah, yeah, every time I'm in Diagon Alley I'll drop in on him. Well, wave to 'im through the window anyways," he amended. "When he's there..."

Hermione nodded again. After another moment, she said, "Well, it's really good to see you again."

"Yeah, you too, Hermione," Hagrid responded a little wistfully.

"I've just... I have to get back up to the castle. Classes." She gave him a small, apologetic smile and jumped down from the chair.

"'Course," Hagrid said, standing. "I best get back to work, too. Had a report of a boomslang I've gotta check into. Professor Snape'll be wantin' it fer 'is potions if I can find it."

"Yes, I was wondering about that," Hermione said suddenly as Hagrid opened the door for her. She had meant to ask Remus, and had forgotten. She turned and looked at him quizzically. "Why did Snape go back to teaching Potions?"

"What do you mean?"

Hermione paused on the threshhold. "I mean, remember back before... well, in our sixth year. Professor Snape was the Defense teacher. He'd been waiting his whole career for that post. And then he had it, and afterwards... You know, when he came back then, afterwards, he went back to Potions, didn't he? I was just wondering. Why not Defense?"

Hagrid shook his shaggy head and shrugged. "Mebbe Professor McGonagall didn' trust 'im completely yet. I'll tell yeh in all honesty I've still got me doubts. I know what they say he did afterwards an' all, but still..." He had a dark look on his face.

Hermione put her hand delicately on Hagrid's massive arm. "Hagrid," she said seriously, "Professor Snape redeemed himself. I know what he did-- to Dumbledore-- we may not ever know the whole truth about that, but he was cleared of any criminal deeds by the Wizengamot, and the Ministry and Professor McGonagall both allowed him to return to teaching. I know he's not the most pleasant person--"

Hagrid snorted at that understatement.

"--but when you look objectively at all that happened, he never did anything to further Voldemort's cause; on the contrary, he only ever acted in the interests of the Order."

Hagrid's face clouded with anger. "You think killin' Dumbledore was in the Order's bes' interes'?" he demanded.

"I don't know..." she stammered uncertainly, removing her hand from his arm, unnerved by his show of anger toward her. "It must have been... After all, we won, didn't we?"

"It'd've been a damn' sight easier if Dumbledore's still been aroun'!" Hagrid shouted. "Mebbe then Harry wouldn't've--" His eyes bulged, red-rimmed now, the words too deeply hurtful to speak.

"We can't think like that, Hagrid," Hermione stated in a small voice. "What would have or wouldn't have happened. We only have what did happen. Like it or not..." Her throat tightened. "I've got to go," she muttered, not wanting to break down in front of Hagrid, wanting to set a brave example. She stepped down onto the lawn and walked quickly toward the castle.

Behind her, she heard the cabin door close firmly.


	4. Chapter 4 In Remus's Quarters

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! In answer to one comment, I don't think that Ron and Hermione aren't friends anymore...it's just that time has passed, they've set off on their adult lives, and those lives don't happen to cross paths very often. In addition, everyone emerged from the Final Battle shell-shocked (more on this in future chapters) and no one's really quite come to terms yet with what happened. I think Ron will turn up a few chapters down the line, though. And now, on with the show!

**CHAPTER 4**

**In Remus's Quarters**

"Remus, can I ask you something?" Hermione was lounging in the most comfortable armchair in Remus's quarters, where she had taken to hanging out in quiet moments. She was skimming through some of her Second-Years' attempts at the assignment she had given to write imagined diary entries for wizards who had been seized during the Purge of 1591.

Remus looked up from the book he was perusing. "Anything, my dear," he said with an indulgent smile. He very much enjoyed Hermione's company, and, if truth be told, had of late been making something of a concerted effort to see to it that he had plenty of time to spend alone with her. Not that he was romantically interested in her; he considered her too young for him, and himself too much of a confirmed bachelor (he would never inflict himself on anyone, not without a cure), and...what might have been with a certain Metamorphmagus still haunted him, would haunt him until he died. No, it was just that he enjoyed the conceit that a young, talented (and moderately attractive, he might add) witch would seek out his company over that of anyone else in the castle. Not that there were many others she might have befriended.

There was Angelina, of course, but she spent nearly all of her waking hours sitting on a broomstick, a position in which Hermione had not often, if ever, found herself. And as for most of the others, they had certainly accepted Hermione as a worthy colleague, but there was probably still the lingering aura of "former student" about her that effectively blocked any further leanings toward amity. Remus, though, had only known Hermione as a student (a most brilliant one) for a single year, and even then, he had felt another sort of connection to her, and to Ron, as the closest friends of James's son. In addition, she had fought for the Order, actually seen combat in the Ministry, and later, at Harry's side, just as he had. That shared experience had forged a bond between the two of them that transcended their differences in age and background. But Hermione had a question.

"Why is Snape teaching Potions?" She removed her glasses (she had ruined her eyesight during all-night reading binges in poorly lighted conditions), indicating that she was expecting a longer discussion.

Remus looked surprised by the question. "He's the best there is."

"Yes, yes, I know," Hermione countered dismissively, "Half-Blood Prince and all, but why isn't he teaching Defense?"

"Because _I'm_ the best there is," Remus teased.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean that you weren't. But everyone knows he was itching to get the Defense job, and then Dumbledore gave it to him, and then, afterwards, when he came back, he went into Potions. Right?" She wasn't a hundred percent clear on what had happened to everyone in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat. She had been too wrapped up in her own grief experience to keep track of everyone else's, least of all Severus Snape's.

"Well, you know he didn't come back right away. Of course, you were here that year," Remus said, more reminding himself than her.

"More or less," Hermione said wryly. She had been absent the last two months of her final term, in a desperately doomed attempt to protect Harry from himself.

"More or less," Remus acknowledged with a curt nod. "So who took Defense that year?"

"Moody. The real one," Hermione added, well in remembrance of Barty Crouch, Jr., who had impersonated Alastor Moody and taught the class in her fourth year. The impersonator had been better, in her opinion. The real Moody had also only lasted a year, before deciding once and for all to hole up with his wand and his Dark detectors and be done with it.

"And Brewster must have taken Potions, then," Remus surmised.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "But after that...?"

"Well, when it was all over, Severus was brought to answer charges before the Wizengamot, but, as you also know, he was exonerated. The following year, he returned here as a teacher. Of course, that was the year I came back here as well, to teach Defense. I can't tell you exactly why he went back to Potions. All I can tell you is that Minerva contacted me directly about the Defense position, oh about a month before the start of term. I'm sorry if that's not much help," he shrugged apologetically.

"Never mind," Hermione sighed. "It's not important. Just wondering, you know?" She returned to the students' papers. It shouldn't matter to her why Snape was teaching Potions as opposed to Defense Against the Dark Arts, and it bothered her that she was wasting so much time thinking about that dreadful man. But now that the question was lodged in her brain, she knew it would give her no rest until she was able to answer it satisfactorily. One of the downsides of having such an inquisitive nature.

"Oh, Hermione?" Remus asked, just as she was getting down to reading again.

"Yes?"

"You won't forget about the meeting tomorrow, will you?" He seemed sheepish, knowing full well that she wouldn't forget, but still being compulsive enough to have to remind her. He hated being unable to fulfill his duties, and always made a point of arranging someone to cover for him so that no one would have to reschedule for his sake.

Hermione smiled to herself. "Don't worry," she placated him. "I'll take notes for you. If there's one thing I'm a whiz at, it's taking notes."

xOxOxOx

_Oh gods. What is she doing here? Bad enough that I have to sacrifice this hour for this inane meeting, but to have to do it in the presence of the new Gryffindor darling of the school is really too much. Surely she is here in error._

"I'm afraid you've misunderstood, Professor Granger," Snape seemed to take pleasure in informing her, "but this meeting is for Heads of House only."

"I know," Hermione replied, taking the seat next to Professor Sprout, whom she greeted with a warm smile.

_Impudent snot. She as good as stuck her impertinent tongue out at me._

"You haven't been named Head of Gryffindor since this morning, have you?" Snape inquired.

_Gods, I hope not. That would be the end of it. Remus is bad enough._

"No," Hermione answered simply, adjusting her robes around her.

"Or has Hogwarts suddenly inaugurated a fifth House, of which I am unaware?"

"Not that I know of," Hermione said, looking at Snape with what looked to him very much to be a challenging glint in her eye.

Professor Sprout was following the exchange with interest.

"Then we are back at the start of this charming repartee," Snape sneered, "which was--"

"Ah, good afternoon, Pomona, Severus!" Professor McGonagall entered in a rush, Professor Flitwick in her wake. "I apologize for the delay, but Filius and I were waylaid by a situation in the Ravenclaw Common Room involving an anti-gravity field and a vat of jelly." She dropped into the chair at the head of the table and Flitwick scurried into the seat on her left. "Hermione," she smiled, "how good of you to fill in for Remus."

_Blast! Tonight's the full moon! Look at her gloating at me. Thinks she's so bloody clever._

"Not at all," Hermione was saying.

"Right, shall we get started then?" Professor McGonagall picked up a parchment from the sheaf she had brought in with her.

_No, we bloody well shall not!_

"Minerva," Snape said softly, raising one long, pale finger. "I find that I must lodge a protest."

Professor McGonagall sighed ever so slightly and turned to Snape, her eyebrows raised. "Yes, Severus?"

"This meeting is for Heads of House only." He nodded in supposed acknowledgement at Flitwick and Sprout before continuing. "It is..." he paused, allowing a smirk to creep onto across his features, "..._unfortunate_...that Remus finds himself unable to attend. But I do not think that is reason for sensitive matters to be discussed in front of... _inexperienced_ and..._immature_ staff members." He steepled his fingers and looked coolly at Hermione.

"Oh my," whispered Professor Flitwick.

_Take that, you little upstart._

Hermione felt her cheeks getting hot, but she held her peace. In any case, Professor McGonagall jumped immediately to Hermione's defense.

"Severus," McGonagall said, her voice shaking slightly with indignation, "you, possibly more than anyone else, should be aware of the reason for Remus's absence, and as you very well know, it is something which is completely beyond his, or anyone else's, control. He has, quite responsibly, I might add, assigned a Deputy to represent his House and inform him of anything pertinent which we might discuss. And--"

"Oh, are we allowed to delegate our responsibilities as Head of House, then?" Severus broke in, one eyebrow raised. "That is good to know. In future, I shall be sending Professor Arcanum to represent me at these engaging little meetings," he said, referring to the Ancient Runes instructor.

"You are perfectly welcome, should illness prevent you from attending to your duties, to arrange for a substitute," McGonagall informed him coolly. "Otherwise, if you find that you are unable-- or _unwilling_-- to fulfill your duties as Head of Slytherin House, you may resign at any time." She glared icicles at Snape, and he returned in kind.

_Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you. Then you could banish me to that dungeon, never have to suffer my presence for a second longer than absolutely necessary. I'd not give you the pleasure._

"No, I don't believe that I will," Snape finally drawled.

"And as for your suggestion that Professor Granger is anything less than discreet," McGonagall continued huffily, "I will _personally_ vouch for her trustworthiness."

_Of course you will. House affiliations not counting in the adult world, my skinny ass!_

"Well," Snape purred, "it seems that you have successfully answered all of my objections." He gave a curt nod and settled back into his chair again. Professor McGonagall was about to start again when Snape suddenly leaned forward and asked, frowning, as if the thought had just occurred to him, "What about his classes?"

"Pardon me?"

Snape seemed genuinely bothered. "His classes; who is covering his classes. In the past, he's asked me to do it, but--"

"I am," Hermione spoke up with a hint of pride.

Snape swivelled his head to fix Hermione with an inscrutable look and softly said, "You?"

"Yes," she answered, meeting his gaze, although inwardly flinching, expecting any second to hear 'Ten points from Gryffindor for your impertinence, Miss Granger.'

"And what, pray tell, makes you think that you are qualified to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?" he asked in that dangerously quiet tone Hermione knew so well.

"Because I have defended myself against the Dark Arts," she shot back. "In case you've forgotten."

"Indeed I have not," Snape replied, with a nasty sneer which revealed his sharp, uneven teeth.

_Oh ho, girl, now I've got you._

"I do seem to recall that you were at the Ministry during that _unfortunate_ incident in which Black was killed...although I believe you were lying unconscious somewhere during most of it. And then there was your _feeble_ attempt at aiding Potter during his final confrontation with He Who Shall Not Be Named. Weren't you put out of action by...what was it? A dead... child?"

_And of course, greatest of all, my trump, your triumphal non-appearance at the little party Malfoy arranged...but best not mention that after all...it would only lead to a tedious discussion of my own actions..._

"It was an inferi, you bastard," Hermione growled.

"Ah yes. Well there you go," he concluded lightly. "You have clearly demonstrated a thorough understanding and application of the subject."

"Professor Snape!" Minerva snapped, beside herself with suppressed indignation. "That is quite enough! Professor Granger's qualifications are not at issue here, although I daresay she is more than qualified to teach _any_ subject in the curriculum."

_Snort. It'll be a cold day in the Ninth Hell before she teaches _my_ class!_

"I am perfectly satisfied with Remus's arrangements," Minerva plowed on, "and it is not your place to question them. I realize that, in the past, you were called on to fill in for him on occasion, but every time you made sure that everyone knew how put upon you were and what a great sacrifice you were making. I cannot fathom why, now, you are behaving like a jealous child. Yes, a child, Severus!" McGonagall raised her voice in answer to Snape's flashing eyes. "You had your chance at the Dark Arts position, and you made it quite clear to me then what your feelings were. I should think you'd be glad that Remus has found a solution which does not include you. Now, may we finally get down to the business at hand? I should very much like to get through this meeting before dinner!" Professor McGonagall's flaring nostrils bore a striking resemblance to those of an enraged Hebridean Black dragon. "Not that I believe I'll have much of an appetite," she muttered under her breath.

Hermione's heart was beating wildly, sweat was prickling under her arms and on her back, and she could feel that her face had flushed to the colour of a dragon liver. How dare he! How dare he bring up those incidents from the past! As if he had exhibited any more effectiveness in combat against Voldemort's minions than she! As far as she knew, the sum total of his combat experience involved blasting Dumbledore to Kingdom Come. Funny he didn't mention that little skirmish. She couldn't even bring herself to look in Snape's direction, she was fuming so hard. She stared blindly at a spot on the table and tried hard to re-gain control of her thought processes. She needed to represent Gryffindor appropriately, which included not letting Snape get her goat. She knew that was what he was really after...he wasn't really interested in propriety, just in driving the point home that she, Hermione Granger, Witch Magistra, Professor of History of Magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Veteran of the Second War, Order of Merlin Second Class, author of several well-received articles in _Historia Magica_ and the _Journal of Magical Inquiry_ _(JMI)_, was nothing more than a half-grown, ill-prepared, pampered twit in his mind. Minerva was right! He was the one behaving childishly, and she wouldn't let herself be dragged down to his level. She sat up straight, fixed her eyes on Minerva, and caught up with what she was saying about House points.

_That was satisfying. Very satisfying indeed. Much more so than needling Remus. Double points: Minerva's babbling means I got her, too. I always did enjoy shutting little Miss Know-It-All up. Good to know it works even without the threat of negative House points or detentions. Yes, I do believe I am finding the correct buttons to push with her._


	5. Chapter 5 Hogsmeade

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**CHAPTER 5**

**Hogsmeade**

Hermione fairly flew down the main stairway into the Great Hall, where clusters of students were already excitedly buzzing, waiting for the OK to make a break for Hogsmeade. Here she was, already pulling an Angelina, Hermione berated herself.

She'd thought she'd have plenty of time to get ready, but she hadn't been able to find any clean clothes, and had had to waste several minutes applying an _Eluara_ spell before she felt presentable. As they would be visible to Muggles on the road from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, she had chosen to wear Muggle clothing: a pair of jeans and a long woolen manteau over a T-shirt and jumper. Plus they were warmer than her robes, and the Mid-October air had turned biting.

Angelina, surprisingly, was already waiting by the doors. She was also wearing Muggle clothes, but over the top she wore her unbuttoned Quidditch robe, and in her hand she was holding one of the school brooms. Hermione was no great judge of brooms, but it looked to her as if that one had seen better days; several bristles were sticking out at odd angles, and a chunk of the handle actually appeared to be missing, as if someone with an extremely hardy dentition had taken a bite out of it.

"Sorry I'm late," Hermione panted, and eyed Angelina's get-up sceptically. "Are you going to fly?"

Angelina laughed. "Hardly. This old thing can't get it up anymore." She tossed the broom lightly in her grip. "I'm taking it in to Scopson's for servicing. See if he can get a last few kilometres out of it."

"Oh, I just thought, because of your robes--"

"Nah, I know I might get some funny looks, but there's nothing better for keeping you warm." She opened the front of her robe and exposed the interior to Hermione. "Made of felt from the Siberian Giant Yak and lined with honest-to-goodness Yeti fur. Light but durable as hell. Cost a fortune, but the club was paying!" she laughed.

"OK, then, are we ready to go?" Hermione felt nearly as excited as she had on her first Hogsmeade weekend as a student. She was so looking forward to seeing her old haunts: The Three Broomsticks, Zonko's, Honeydukes... Of course, as a member of the staff she was free to go anytime, but she had been so consumed with her teaching duties that she hadn't made time to do so yet.

"I am," Angelina was saying, "but I think we'd better wait for Snape. He's the one who's supposed to be in charge of this outing."

"Where is he?" Hermione looked around. The Great Hall was now full of students, most of them staring impatiently at her and Angelina. She could see Argus Filch lurking just inside the front doors, clutching his clipboard to his chest and glowering at them and the students alternately.

"Beats me," Angelina shrugged. "I've been here for ten minutes..." She glanced at the magical sundial on the wall. "It's already two minutes past time. Maybe he forgot?"

"Forgot on purpose is more like it," Hermione muttered darkly.

"Well, I'm not going to get him," Angelina flatly stated. "I swore once I graduated never to set foot in those dungeons again."

"You want me to go get him?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Cheers, I'll go ahead and start helping Filch check everyone off," Angelina said with a cheeky grin.

"Thanks a bunch, Angelina," Hermione grumbled and stalked off.

Much as she did _not_ want to have to seek out the Evil Bat of the Dungeons (as she had heard several of her students referring to Snape), she felt it would be petty and childish to refuse to do so. After all, it was his duty to supervise this outing, and he was holding everyone up with his tardiness. She might even find the opportunity to make him feel guilty.

Thus cheered, Hermione made her way down the stairs. She could feel the air growing steadily more cool and dank. The smell of damp threw her back into her student days, when she had descended this way for Potions instruction. She actually found the same cold feeling of discomfort developing in her stomach that had accompanied her during every single lesson she had been forced to sit through with Professor Snape.

Once on the dungeon level, the light became dim and artificial, as nothing more filtered down from upstairs. A couple of students, Slytherin Fourth years, ran past her to the stairs, apparently on their way to join the group. One of them, a boy with long straight blond hair that obscured his face, glanced at her with mild curiosity but didn't say anything, but the other, a girl who wore too much black eyeliner, smiled nervously and said, "Good morning, Professor Granger," as she passed.

Hermione returned her greeting and wondered briefly whether to stop them and send them on this errand, or at least ask them whether they had seen Snape, but they were already around the turn in the stairs before she had properly decided. She sighed inwardly and continued down the now-deserted corridor. How could anyone live down here?

She realized she didn't actually know where Snape's rooms were, so she walked towards the Potions classroom. She hadn't quite gotten there, though, when a black figure suddenly loomed up in front of her.

"What are you doing here?" Snape demanded, his black eyes glittering in annoyance.

Hermione blinked blankly for a moment. Where had he popped up from? She overcame her start and forced herself to face him. "I came to get you, Sir." She winced inwardly as she said it. She didn't need to call him _Sir_! Here she was, reverting to the old pattern of deference in his presence. She gritted her teeth to prevent herself from correcting herself and making it worse.

_Sir? Well well well. It's almost worth having to supervise this blasted outing to have heard that. What's this she's wearing, though? Some Muggle confection? Hideous, really. I will never understand the Muggle faible for women wearing trousers. _

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Sir? Come now, Professor Granger," he said, managing to sound condescending even as his words expressed magnanimity. "We are colleagues, are we not? You may call me Severus."

Hermione shivered. "Severus," she managed to gulp out. "We... Everyone is waiting upstairs. For the Hogsmeade outing."

"Of course they are. It is time, after all." He continued to stride along the corridor towards the stairs, his black cape billowing behind him. Hermione found she had to run a little to keep up. "Come, Professor Granger," he called over his shoulder, and Hermione found the tone of his voice to be gratingly similar to one that might be used to call a pet. "We do not wish to make the students wait. By the way, you look like a Muggle in that get-up." He made the designation sound like something filthy.

_Right, that's it_, Hermione thought grimly. She ran two steps ahead of him and stopped in the middle of the corridor, blocking his way. Her eyes flashed in anger. "I think it's about time we got something clear, _Severus_. What I wear or do not wear is none of your business!" she fumed. "You would never speak to Minerva that way! Nor Pomona, nor-- nor Filius!" She had been about to say Remus, but then realized that, yes, Snape would probably say such a thing to Remus...and worse.

Snape folded his arms across his chest and looked down his long and crooked nose at Hermione. "Au contraire," he countered archly, "I most certainly would point out the impropriety of such attire to any teacher assigned to chaperone a student event with me. You are not on your free time here, _Professor_, you are representing Hogwarts to the public, and not only that, but you are also setting an example for the students. However, you are correct in saying that I would not make that statement to Minerva, Pomona, or Filius...but _only_ because none of them would have dreamt in their wildest dreams of putting on such...clothing, if I may call it that. You should be grateful that I have pointed it out to you, so that you don't make such a fool of yourself a second time. Unfortunately, you don't have time to change now. You have made us late." And with that, he stepped neatly around her and took the stairs two at a time.

_Ah, that one was almost embarrassingly easy. Although she will set herself up, with those Muggle mannerisms. _

She? Made them late? The nerve-- Hermione scrabbled up the stairs, once again breathing heavily by the time she reached the top. Her braid was coming loose now, too, but she didn't have time to re-plait it, so just pushed the hair back out of her face and charged after Snape.

Snape cut a swath through the crowd of students and made directly for the door, where Angelina, Filch, and the largest concentration of students were congregated.

"Ah, there y'are, Professor," Filch croaked, an ingratiating leer forming on his face. "I've checked everyone against the list. Griggle and Pudnut here tried to sneak past me, but I caught 'em." He pulled two boys forward by their collars and thrust them at Snape. They were First Years by the looks of them, and scared to death. Filch's leer widened hopefully. "I thought you might want to give 'em detention?"

Snape exhaled briefly through his nose. "Twenty points from Hufflepuff," he intoned, then turned to the unfortunate captives. "Griggle, Pudnut, First Years are not allowed to leave the school grounds. I suggest you use the afternoon to get to work on your Potions assignment."

"Yes, sir," they both whispered, their eyes large, yet clearly relieved to have gotten off so easily.

Filch released them, disappointment written all over his leathery face.

"If that's all then?" Snape asked imperiously. Filch nodded sadly. "Then let's get this over with," Snape growled, throwing the double doors wide and leading the way out across the grounds.

"What happened down there?" Angelina asked Hermione as the two of them waited for all the students to exit the castle.

"What do you mean?"

Angelina gave Hermione a head-to-toe look. "You're all out of breath, your hair's mussed, and your cheeks are red...And _he_ didn't give those two detention! If I didn't know better, I'd say you and ol' Greaseball'd had a quickie down in the dungeon."

Hermione looked at Angelina in horror. She couldn't tell whether she was joking or not. It also bothered her that she, a teacher, had used such an insulting term to refer to Snape. But that was secondary. "Angelina! Bite your tongue!" she scolded, aghast. "He started insulting me, and I had to take a stand."

"Oh," Angelina nodded with a knowing smile. "Had your first run-in with him, did you?"

"It was hardly my first. But it was the first time I decided not to take it anymore."

They caught up the rear of the group, herding stragglers down the road in the right direction. "So what'd you do? _Langlock_? Bat Bogey Hex?" Angelina asked with wicked anticipation.

"No, I simply made it clear that I was no longer one of his students to be bullied and intimidated," Hermione explained self-righteously.

"And _that_ worked?" Angelina asked, obviously sceptical that simple words had had any impact whatsoever.

"Well..." Hermione said uncertainly, "to a degree." Actually, he had managed to turn it around and put her even more firmly in the place to which he seemed to have relegated her. But she didn't need to go into detail.

"Hmfph," Angelina sniffed. "You'd better give it up, girl. He isn't worth the trouble."

"And what do you do when he starts in on you?" Hermione asked curiously.

"He doesn't anymore," Angelina shrugged.

"How did you manage that?" Hermione asked, impressed.

"When I first got here, he was also all 'Quidditch is worthless' and 'Proper wizards Apparate, they don't fly'," she mimicked, doing a worthy imitation of Snape's deep and haughty voice, "but I told him to--" she kissed her hand airily, slapped it against her rear, and wiggled her fingers at an imaginary Snape.

"You didn't--" Hermione giggled.

"Didn't I now? He's air to me, baby, nothing but the Evil Bat of the Dungeons." She grinned at Hermione, obviously pleased with her joke.

Hermione frowned. "I don't think you should call him that," she said.

"What, Evil Bat? I admit, it doesn't have the air of Greasy Git. Remember? That's what we used to call him when we were students."

"Angelina, we're talking about a Professor here, one of our colleagues," Hermione reprimanded her.

"We're talking about Snape!" Angelina exclaimed. "If he can't take it, he shouldn't dish it out!"

"Maybe he only dishes it out, as you so pithily put it, because it's all anyone ever serves up to him. Have you considered that?"

"I can't believe you're defending him. Are you sure he didn't cast some sort of charm on you?" Angelina stopped walking and peered closely at Hermione's eyes. "Give you something to drink, did he?"

"Oh, stop it," Hermione brushed crossly past Angelina. "I just don't think it's right to be disrespectful to him. I mean, look, he's a hero, after all."

Angelina's snort was loud and indignant. She took a couple of long strides and caught up easily with Hermione. "A hero! What, do you mean that stuff we heard about him leading Harry to You Know Who?"

"Yes, and not only that, but all the years he delivered information to the Order on the Death Eaters' doings. And how he protected Harry, saved his life more than once? He put his own life on the line over and over, and all anyone has to say to him is Evil Bat. I think that's simply reprehensible."

"I don't know whose version you've been listening to. Anything that man ever did was to serve his own interests and save his own skin. Maybe he did end up doing things that turned out to be beneficial, but if so, it was through no virtue of his own. I promise you, the man's no saint."

"I'm not saying he is. I know he's unpleasant and all. But I don't think people give him enough credit. Maybe if they did, he wouldn't _be_ so unpleasant."

"You know what this is reminding me of?" Angelina said, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to her.

"No, what?"

"Spew."

"Excuse me?" Had Angelina just indicated a need to vomit?

"You know, that petition you started to get people to be nicer to House-Elves...back when we were students."

"Oh," Hermione laughed. "You mean S.P.E.W." She was impressed that Angelina had remembered that, given that no one aside from Harry or Ron had ever joined, and they had only done it as a personal favor.

"That's it," Angelina nodded, amused. "I guess you always did have a soft spot for ugly creatures with big noses and bad attitudes."

"Angelina..." Hermione began warningly, but her eyes were laughing.

Angelina held up her hands in surrender. "OK, OK, I'll lay off him, I promise. At least I'll try to."

"Thanks."

xOxOxOx

The day was turning out nicer than Hermione had expected, given the rocky start. Soon after they arrived at Hogsmeade, the heavy cloud cover started to thin out, giving glimpses of blue streaks which did wonders to buoying up Hermione's mood.

Angelina went to the broommaker's first, while Hermione strolled along the High Street, trying to take in all the sights and smells while keeping an eye out for potentially wayward students. Snape was nowhere to be seen. Hermione figured he was probably sitting at a back table of The Boar's Head, nursing a firewhiskey and hoping the day would end quickly. It must be quite sad, after all, to have everyone hating you, calling you names, and spurning your company. Hermione almost found herself feeling sympathy for him. Then she remembered how he had belittled her at the Heads of House meeting, and the sympathy dried up and was replaced by the makings of a grudge. But then she considered that she should be the bigger person; she was a Gryffindor, after all. Hot on the tail of that thought, however, was the memory of the condescending tone of voice he had taken with her that morning, and she decided to stop thinking about the Potions Master altogether and enjoy her day.

Zonko's was still there, with a large portion of their shop window devoted to items Hermione recognized as being Weasley products: Skiving Snackboxes, Headless Hats, fake wands, and a large assortment of magical fireworks. There were also apparently some new items, including Ventrilofarts and -belches, 'Lurve' Kits (Hermione shuddered to think) and Mini-Time Turners that looked like egg timers. Hermione wondered whether these actually worked and, if so, how they had gotten Ministry approval to market them. It certainly looked like Fred and George were well on their way to fame and wealth. Good for them. She almost went in to have a browse, but then decided that her presence might dampen the students' enthusiasm for purchasing items meant to disrupt instruction, and she didn't feel like being a spoil sport today. The kids were probably going to use their loot in Potions class rather than in hers, anyway, she thought smugly, then immediately felt guilty for having done so.

She had always found History of Magic to be a fascinating subject, but so dreadfully taught by Professor Binns as to make even her welcome such distractions as offered themselves. That was why she had vowed never to lecture a class when she became a teacher. She invented games, brought in guest speakers (mostly ghosts, although only ones with interesting stories to tell), assigned group projects for the students to present themselves, encouraged role playing, arranged sound-and-picture shows (adapted from Muggle-produced movies), and organised field trips, among many others. As far as she could tell, the students were generally interested in the subject, or at least remained reasonably alert and on-task during classtime and turned in most of their assignments on time. It wasn't a flashy subject like Charms or Transfiguration (as Hagrid had pointed out), but that didn't mean it wasn't an important part of a young witch or wizard's education. And it didn't hurt that she felt completely competent to teach it.

She and Angelina caught up with each other for lunch at The Three Broomsticks. Rosmerta was still there, obviously also having been forgiven for her role in Draco's plot, seeing as she had been under the Imperius Curse at the time. She seemed more subdued than Hermione remembered her being, however, her clothing more modest, sombre, not as flamboyant (or tawdry, as Hermione had thought of it). The place was full of students, and Hermione found herself looking around to see whether Snape were there as well, but she couldn't see him. They enjoyed a Mulligatawny stew and a couple of Butterbeers, then headed back out into the town.

The sun still had not been able to break completely through the tenacious layer of low cloud cover, but the blue patches were growing larger. They decided to make the rounds of the usual student haunts, just to check up that nothing was amiss. Their tour took them to Madam Puddifoot's (where several young couples jerked apart abashedly upon the Professors' entrance); Honeydukes (where Hermione couldn't help buying a bag of coconut ices); Scrivenshaft's (which was very nearly devoid of students, although Hermione's personally could have happily spent the better part of the afternoon there); the Boar's Head (where Snape was not in evidence, although a small group of fifth and sixth years were, huddled in a corner and apparently trying to hide something from view; upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a pack of _Smutty Sorceresses_ playing cards; Hermione handed them back to the owner, but not without first glimpsing some very smutty sorceresses indeed); Gladrags (where a gaggle of Slytherin girls was hogging the changing rooms); Scopson's (where it seemed nearly the entire male student body and a goodly number of the females were crammed, admiring the latest model of the Comet); and, finally, a pass by the Shrieking Shack, which gave Hermione a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach as she remembered their confrontation with Peter Pettigrew, at which she personally (along with Harry and Ron) had attacked Snape and rendered him unconscious. She'd never properly apologized for that, she realized.

By the time they got back to the High Street, the sun was getting low and students were starting to wander back towards the castle. "Where _is_ Snape?" Hermione frowned. "We haven't seen hide nor hair of him all day."

"And what a pleasant day it was," Angelina sighed. Catching a grumpy look from Hermione, she laughed and said, "Come on, it was!"

"Yes, all right," Hermione admitted, "it was, but still, I wonder where Snape has got off to. You don't think he actually doubled back and spent the entire day at the castle?"

"I wouldn't put it past him."

"What do you think? Should we wait a little longer, or go back without him?"

"Why don't we start rounding up the students, remind them they need to be back by five. Maybe he'll crop up in the meantime."

Hermione was about to start up the street again when Angelina pulled out a silver whistle on a chain around her neck and blew into it. The intensity of the tone was piercing, yet not painful to the ears. It must have been heard all over the village.

"Quidditch whistle?" Hermione asked.

"Yup," Angelina grinned. "I told them when I checked them out this morning to listen for it, means they'd better head back."

"Ingenious."

"Why thank you." She did a neat little bow.

The whistle seemed to have had its intended effect, as a minor flood of students spilled out of the shops and into the road towards Hogwarts. Among the youthful mops and carefully coiffed dos, the jet-black head of Severus Snape bobbed into view.

"There he is," Hermione announced to Angelina with some relief, although she didn't know why. Probably because she wouldn't have to go looking for him again.

"I'll say," Angelina said in a low voice. "And did you see where he came from?"

"No."

"That lane over there on the right...just past Scrivenshaft's." Angelina leaned over to speak close to Hermione's ear.

Hermione looked where Angelina indicated, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. "What's over there?"

"Don't you know?"

"Enlighten me."

"Well, I could be wrong, of course...but that's where Lenore's place is."

"Who's Lenore?"

Angelina fixed Hermione with a look that might have indicated either awe or pity. "You really didn't do anything but study at school did you?"

Hermione frowned; it was true, she had had basically no social life at school, but then that wasn't the reason for attendance, in her opinion. "Never mind that," she said, "do you want to tell me what you're on about?"

"Lenore is...someone that men go to...for relief...from a certain _pressing_ problem." Angelina looked hard at Hermione.

Realization dawned on Hermione. She opened her mouth in shock. She glanced in the direction of Snape, who was now dangerously close to being within hearing range. "But you don't think that he..." she hissed.

"Hey," Angelina shrugged matter-of-factly, "he's a man. And how else is he going to...you know. It's not like any woman in her right mind would actually _freely_--"

But Angelina cut herself off in midsentence and Hermione was spared from coming up with an alternative for Snape to 'you know' by the arrival of the man in question.

"Splendid," he said on approach, looking actually much more chipper than Hermione thought she had ever seen him, "it looks like another Hogsmeade weekend has been completed without loss of life or limb. If you two would take up the rear." And without slowing his pace, he continued past them into the road.


	6. Chapter 6 Hallowe'en

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_AN: First: 'More chipper' is not an unqualified 'chipper.' Second: Although I have to admit that I do find the 40-year-old virgin angle more realistic than SexGod!Severus, I did also consider the possibility that he led a life of self-denial and monastic celibacy, but then I thought that the Severus I've appropriated for this story would more likely use someone to take care of his 'baser' instincts. So, yes, he really did visit Lenore. Third: As to romance, this is definitely a SS/HG story, but I'm more interested in exploring psychology here than physiology. It's going to be a long time before any grape (GRanger-snAPE) juice is squeezed. But there'll be some of that as a reward if you're patient. ;-)_

**CHAPTER 6**

**Hallowe'en**

"What are you going to be for Hallowe'en?" Hermione placed one hand on Remus's head in her lap and absent-mindedly stroked the mousy brown strands. They were lounging on the sofa in his private quarters.

Remus lowered the book he had been reading and laid it face-down on his chest. "I don't know, actually. Everything I come up with seems in such terribly poor taste."

"What have you considered?"

"Well, the obvious one--"

"Yes, that one might not be advisable," Hermione agreed. Visions of students (and teachers) running screaming from the Great Hall floated before Hermione's inner eye.

"Quite. And then I thought maybe dressing up as Dumbledore...as a sort of tribute, you understand."

"Mmm. I can see how that might be considered a bit provocative." Snape for one would go bonkers, and the rest of the staff might not take it in the right vein, either.

Remus sighed. "Which leaves us with the fluffy pink bunny."

Hermione laughed. "That, I'd like to see!"

"Yes," Remus chuckled, "I'm sure you would, but the tradition is to impersonate something that will scare away the Dark spirits."

"Trust me, the pink bunny is very scary."

Remus smiled to himself. "How about you? What are you going to dress up as?"

"I was thinking perhaps an historical figure. Beneficia the Bold, for instance. Or one of the Founders, Helga Hufflepuff or Rowena Ravenclaw."

"Merlin forbid!" Remus cried in mock horror. "You're a Gryffindor! At least you must dress up as Godric!"

"Oh thanks a lot! You think I'd look better as a man?"

"That was the furthest thought from my mind. In fact, I don't think your dressing up as a man would diminish your femininity in the least. But as Head of Gryffindor House, what do you expect me to say?"

"I know, why don't _you_ be Godric Gryffindor!"

"Hmm. I'm not sure I have the presence to carry that off. He was a quite impressive figure of a man, you know."

"As are you," Hermione stated loyally.

"Thank you," Remus said with a wry little smile. "I will consider it."

xOxOxOx

"I hate pumpkins," Hermione grumped as she took her place at the Head Table for dinner. "If I never have to see another pumpkin it won't be too soon."

"I'm sure you did a lovely job, dear," Professor Flitwick commented before Summoning the gravy boat from where it stood out of his reach near the edge of the table.

"Do you know how many pumpkins I Transfigured into Jack-O-Lanterns this afternoon?" Hermione continued to nobody in particular, helping herself to a slice of turkey breast. "Five hundred."

Professor Flitwick spluttered, "Five-- Five _hundred_?" and dropped the ladle into the gravy boat with a clatter.

Even Remus, on Hermione's other side, looked slightly alarmed.

"But Hermione, we only needed _one_ hundred for the decorations," Professor McGonagall interjected. She laid down her cutlery and looked over at Hermione with a worried expression.

"What--? But I asked Dobby which pumpkins were for the party tonight, and he showed me that entire storeroom full..."

"A goodly number of them were meant to be turned into pumpkin juice, pumpkin pies--" Minerva told her primly.

"Argh, no!" Hermione threw her head back against the back of her chair and thumped it a couple of times. An entire afternoon wasted! She'd thought they were going a little over the top on the Jack-O-Lanterns, but as she'd never helped with the decorations before, she hadn't wanted to say anything.

"Well, no matter," Minerva sighed. "I'm sure the House-Elves can still turn the four hundred extra Jack-O-Lanterns into palatable refreshments." She picked up her knife and fork again and returned to her meal.

"Never mind, Hermione," Remus said, patting her arm consolingly. "Oh, good evening, Severus." He turned slightly in his chair to greet the Potions Master, who descended on his seat with a bad-tempered look in his eye.

"Ngrmph," Snape grunted in return.

_Why in the name of all that is magical can they not simply let a man consume his meal in peace! Bad enough that I have to endure an entire evening's worth of inane chatter at that bloody Hallowe'en party later on, the least they can do is give me five minutes' peace beforehand!_

"What do pumpkins and Jack-O-Lanterns have to do with Hallowe'en, anyway?" Angelina chimed in to the conversation. She had up until now been silent, as she had been busy cramming as much food as possible into her mouth in the shortest possible time. Hermione had been reminded of Ron, with a pang of nostalgia.

"I was just explaining that to my classes today," Hermione said happily and leaned back in her chair.

_Oh Merlin! Please don't let her launch into a long-winded lecture. I don't think my digestion could stand it._

"Some people think that they're a remnant of some Dark ritual involving human skulls. In fact, they're meant to light the way for souls lost in Limbo. They were originally carved out of turnips, but when the Irish went to America in the Nineteenth century, they found that pumpkins were much more plentiful and easier to cut. So it's actually a relatively recent custom," she finished up, popping a piece of broccoli almondine into her mouth.

"Fascinating," commented Flitwick.

"Yes, it was," came a dark, sarcastic voice from the far end of the table. "Perhaps we should all regurgitate our lessons for general entertainment of an evening."

"Oh dear," squeaked Professor Flitwick, hurriedly concentrating on his turkey.

"Aw, Severus," Remus groaned.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, then decided to try something. She leaned forward so that she could see Snape. He was glaring at the three Gryffindors.

"Severus," she began as civilly and sincerely as she could, "I would actually be interested to know what you have been teaching the students. Anything of interest?"

There was dead silence at the Head Table for the space of three heartbeats.

Then Snape laid his fork and knife ever so gently down on his plate, taking care to set them so that they were exactly parallel to each other. He placed both palms against the edge of the table and slowly pushed his chair back.

"Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," twittered Flitwick, shaking his head miserably at his plate.

"Now Severus, come on," Remus cajoled.

"I told you to leave him alone," Angelina muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

Hermione sat absolutely still, heart in her throat, ears burning. What was he going to do? He wouldn't actually try anything violent, would he? Not surrounded by a dozen witnesses in the form of the other teachers, not to mention the couple of hundred students currently hell-bent on devouring their dinner and ignoring their professors. Would he?

Snape stood, drew himself to his full and not inconsiderable height, covered the distance to Hermione's chair in three strides, gripped the back of her chair and bent over so that his mouth was right next to her ear.

"If you ever try a stunt like that again, _Miss_ Granger," he whispered, his breath moving the loose strands of hair against her cheek, "you will wish that you had joined your friend Potter in Godric's Hollow." He lingered for one heartbeat longer, and Hermione could smell his anger, red and feral. A shiver went down her back. She swallowed over the lump in her throat.

Then, abruptly, Snape straightened up again, turned on his heel, and stalked out.

There was a collective exhaling of breath.

"Sheesh, talk about touchy," Angelina said.

"Hermione, you should really know by now better than to bait him," Minerva scolded, although there was a slight shakiness to her voice.

"Are you all right?" Remus asked, leaning toward Hermione with a concerned frown.

Hermione nodded slowly. "I-- I was trying to be nice," she said hollowly.

"You mean you really meant that?" Remus said, startled.

Hermione nodded again. "I thought-- I thought that was just his way of being included... to toss off comments like he does. I thought if someone really showed an interest in his opinion that he'd respond."

Angelina snorted. "Yeah, he responded, all right." Then she shook her head sympathetically. "I don't know, Hermione, House-Elves are one thing, but this...?"

"House-Elves?" Remus looked at Hermione curiously.

Hermione shook her head. "Never mind." She pushed her own chair firmly away from the table.

"Where are you going?" Remus asked.

"I have to apologize, straighten this out."

Angelina groaned. "Have you learned nothing? The man is a total git!"

"Angelina, really!" Minerva admonished her.

"Sorry," she muttered grudgingly, then appealed to Hermione, "I'm just saying, it won't do any good. You're only going to dig yourself in deeper."

"I'll go with you," Remus said, moving to stand up himself.

"No," Hermione said quickly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know you mean well, Remus, but I have the feeling that that would only infuriate him more: A party of Gryffindors showing up on his doorstep."

"You're probably right," Remus acknowledged, "but he'll be none too happy to see you on your own, either. And I'm used to bearing the brunt of his ill humour."

"Then I think it's time someone put an end to it," Hermione said firmly and squared her shoulders.

The other professors watched as the young witch walked confidently out the staff door.

"Remus, couldn't you have talked some sense into her?" Minerva fussed. "She's in danger of getting her head bitten off, or worse."

Remus shrugged helplessly. "I tried, you saw what happened. I'm afraid I've never been very good at making my friends do what's good for them."

Once outside the Great Hall, Hermione slowed her steps and began thinking strategy. It would be a lot easier to think if the nerve in her cheek wasn't still jangling from where his breath had stirred her hair against it. She brushed at the spot with irritation.

What could she possibly say, or do, to salvage the situation now? She had really meant what she had said to Snape. Well, not that she was actually interested in hearing about his lessons, per se, but that she was interested in hearing what he had to say, that she valued his opinion, or perhaps just his humanity. The fact that he had taken it completely wrong--or not, she now considered; perhaps his response was an unqualified rejection of her overture toward civility--made her even more determined to show him kindness. For it was her belief that making such unsolicited, derogatory comments was Professor Snape's way of making contact with others, much as a young child would hit another child when what he actually wanted was to play. She reckoned that what he needed was someone to show him that there was another way to play, a kind way. And so she had taken a cue from Professor Dumbledore, the only human being whom she had ever seen being kind to Severus Snape. And that kindness had been answered, if not exactly in kind, then at least in a lessening of aggressive and sarcastic tendencies.

But clearly, it was going to be a lot harder than offering to take turns on the playground slide to prove that she was sincere. Why was she even bothering? Why not take Angelina's tack of ignoring, or Remus's of weary resignation, or just stop at Minerva's mild annoyance peppered from time to time with righteous indignation? Because it was an injustice, she told herself self-righteously.

She had also meant what she had said to Angelina about Snape being a hero. And one simply did not bait, tease, insult, or deride heroes. Granted, he didn't make it any easier. But that was what this little campaign was all about. Minerva had already mentioned that Dumbledore had filled a special role in Snape's life, and that, with Dumbledore's death, that role was now empty. Hermione considered how much worse it must in fact be for Snape that he had been the one to cause said role-filler's demise, no matter how justified (or constrained, magically or otherwise) he had been. Hermione wondered, also, how long Snape had been 'visiting' Lenore, and whether she was just a means of relieving a physical need, or whether she was something of a role-filler herself. Hermione had heard that men often sought out prostitutes not just (or even at all) for physical stimulation, but rather for the emotional support, for the feeling that someone cared. For someone to talk to. It made Hermione indescribably sad to know that Snape was driven to such an avenue. Either way.

Angelina's crack about S.P.E.W. was not without its truth quotient. Hermione was virtually in the throes of inaugurating a new club: The Society for Befriending the Snarky Potions Master. Current membership: one. She'd come up with a snazzy acronym later.

Hermione retraced her steps of the morning of the Hogsmeade weekend; she still didn't know exactly where Snape's private quarters were, but she reckoned she must have been close that last time, given how suddenly he had appeared, apparently out of thin air, so she went the same way. This time, however, she wasn't so lucky. The corridor where the Potions classroom was, appeared to be deserted, and there were no other obvious entrances or egresses. The door must be hidden or masked somehow. Well knowing that she was probably about to make a complete and utter fool of herself, Hermione knocked loudly on the classroom door.

"Professor Snape?" she called. She waited a moment, then knocked again. "Severus?" She tried the door, but it was, predictably, locked. She crossed her arms and waited for a moment, thinking, then called again to the walls, "Severus?" Then she started knocking on the walls along the corridor, lifting tapestries, even pushing on the bust of Terence the Tricky, who blew her a raspberry in answer. "Professor Snape, I'd like to talk to you!" she called out in as friendly a manner as possible.

In his quarters, Snape was busy ignoring the attempts to contact him out in the hall. He had already removed his robe and vest and unbuttoned his shirt in preparation for changing into his evening wardrobe. "Go away," he growled through gritted teeth, the sound issuing from deep in his throat. She obviously couldn't hear him, but it gave him satisfaction to give voice to his thought nonetheless.

_If you think I'm going to allow you to give me a dose of your so-called righteous indignation, like that pathetic little display the other day, you'd better have a Plan B. Because you can just stay out there and bang on the walls all night for all that I'm going to respond. _

Outside, Hermione continued to move around in the corridor, occasionally calling out to him. Snape felt himself becoming increasingly irritated. He whipped through his wardrobe blindly, unable to focus on selecting a set of robes for the party. Fancy dress, of course, was beneath him, but he would deign to change into something formal. Finally, he made himself stop, stand still, and close his eyes.

_Blank. Nothing. Black. Empty. I hear the sound. I feel nothing. Someone is out in the hall. I register that fact. It does not concern me. _

It was as if a heavy, black curtain were lowering itself in his mind, effectively blocking the feedback path between sensory input and emotional response. It was a technique that Snape was exceedingly familiar with. Overly familiar. He had perfected over the years to such a degree that he needed little conscious effort to conjure it. In fact, it was now very much like a muscle memory. Neural memory. Neural protection mechanism. And there were others.

Out in the hall, Hermione leaned against a pillar and waited. He had to come out sometime. Unless there was another exit from his quarters? In which case he might be happily (or at least unaccosted, which might work out to the same thing) on his way to the Hallowe'en festivities while she hung out here becoming disgruntled. She fretted over that for a moment, then decided it unlikely. After a quarter of an hour or so, some Slytherin students started passing down the corridor on their way to their Common Room to get ready for the party. They gave her odd looks, but she simply smiled pleasantly at them and nodded, as if she always hung out in empty dungeon passageways. She could, of course, ask one of them to assist her, but she'd be damned if she'd ask a student to point out where Severus Snape's private quarters were, especially a Slytherin student. _Careful, Hermione_, she told herself. _Dangerous waters being treaded_. _Remember encouraging inter-House cooperation and unity?_

The minutes ticked by, and Hermione knew she was going to be cutting it close. Surely Snape must come out soon! He always covered his duties, and chaperoning this party was one of his duties. As it was one of hers, she reminded herself. She started to get fidgety and unbuttoned her robe. She wouldn't have time to talk to Snape, get back up to her room, change into her costume and get back down to the Great Hall before it was time for the party to start. She vaguely wondered what would happen if she didn't show up at all. Detention hardly seemed a viable possibility. But then she'd miss Remus the Rabbit. Not that she really expected him to come dressed as a fluffy pink bunny, but it would have been a good inside joke for the two of them.

Now the students were starting to pass by in the other direction. A vampire, a banshee, a pair of outsized red caps, a chimaera (_Excellent Transfiguration work on the mane_, Hermione thought to herself), and a pair of dementors skipped past her towards the stairs. By now, Hermione was resigned to the fact that she would miss at least the beginning of the party and most likely receive some sort of reprimand from the Headmistress, but she stubbornly stuck it out. He wasn't going to get out of it that easily. _Get out of it? You're supposed to be apologizing, making friendly overtures, not administering some sort of punishment!_ she admonished herself.

Finally, a tall, black-clad figure appeared seemingly out of thin air. _How does he do that?_ Hermione wondered in a mix of irritation and admiration. He had changed out of his regular teaching attire into a high-collared affair with serpentine-symbol embroidery and silver buttons. It was still basic black, but it looked quite spiffy. For some inexplicable reason, her cheek started tingling again where she had felt his breath earlier. She rubbed the spot to override the sensation.

"Severus," Hermione said, to get his attention, as it appeared that he was going to walk right past her.

_Bloody Gryffindor persistence. Look at her, she's been skulking around here waiting to pounce on me rather than getting ready or doing anything useful. If there were any justice at all in the world, she would receive a thorough tongue-lashing from Minerva for being tardy and unprepared. Ergo, she will get off scot-free._

He did not glance at her nor slow his pace, but did acknowledge her with a curt "Professor Granger."

"Severus-- Professor Snape," she persisted, now trying to keep pace with him. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier. At dinner."

"It appears that you are doing so," he replied coldly. He had now reached the stairs and started his ascent.

Hermione followed, unable to take the steps two at a time as he did. "Yes, well, I'm sorry if you got the wrong impression. I wasn't trying to be funny, or insulting, or anything like that. I--" Somehow, she didn't think he'd like her to say that she was just trying to be nice. "I was-- I thought maybe everyone would like to hear what you've been doing in Potions. I remember there used to be some pretty funny incidents..." Seamus repeatedly blowing his eyebrows off...Ron bollixing the Wit-Sharpening Potion and ending up babbling like an idiot for an entire weekend (Hermione still wondered whether the effects of that had ever entirely worn off)...Neville achieving meltdown after meltdown...these and many other images rose quickly to the front of her mind, and she did smile to herself even as she started to get winded again due to the pace at which Snape was tackling the stairs.

"Yes, the destruction of equipment, near-poisonings, and bodily injuries are all highly amusing," Snape remarked drily, as if he could read Hermione's thoughts, "but I prefer to keep the merriment at mealtimes to a minimum. Perhaps you could do the rest of us the same courtesy in future."

They had reached the Entrance Hall, which was now crowded with beasts, monsters, characters, and creatures of every description, awaiting the opening of the doors to the Great Hall. Snape cut through the crowd, which parted effortlessly at his approach. Hermione, meanwhile, nearly had to elbow aside a short, female version of Nearly Headless Nick in order to keep up. They passed through a smaller door to the left of the main entrance to the Great Hall which opened onto a corridor leading to the staff entrance near the Head Table.

When they were nearly at the end of the corridor, Snape stopped suddenly and rounded on Hermione, causing her to nearly bump into him. He glared at her. "Are you going to dog my steps for the rest of the evening?"

"Oh-- no-- I just-- I wanted to make sure you weren't still angry at me, about before."

"You wish me to forgive you?" Snape raised one eyebrow.

Hermione could have sworn he actually looked amused.

"Well, I suppose," she said uncertainly, "although I didn't really do anything wrong; I was just trying to make conversation."

"I forgive you for trying to make conversation," he said shortly. "Do not let it happen again."

He turned around, opened the door to the Great Hall, and went in, leaving Hermione alone in the corridor. She shook her head, trying to clear it. What had just happened here? Her puzzling was interrupted, however, by Angelina jogging up the corridor toward her.

"Hey, Hermione! What's up?" Angelina was covered from head to foot in gold and had a pair of wings whirring on either side of her head.

"Huh?" Hermione frowned in Angelina's direction.

"What're you doing hanging out here? Did McGonagall lock us out or something for being late? I would've been here sooner, but these damn wings kept falling off!" She pressed firmly against her head with her fingers, where one of the wings was presumably anchored.

"Oh, no, I don't know, Snape just..." Hermione gestured feebly toward the door leading into the Great Hall.

"Snape?" Angelina said suspiciously. She looked Hermione carefully over from head to foot, taking in the flyaway hair, unbuttoned robe, accelerated respiration, flushed cheeks, and slightly dazed look. "Hermione, did he just...do something to you?"

"Do something? What do you mean?"

"Hermione, you're freaking me out a little bit. Do you remember what's happened between when you left dinner and now?"

"Yes, of course I do!" she snapped, irritated.

"You sure?"

"Yes!"

"Well what happened then?"

"Nothing! I went down to talk to Snape, but he wouldn't let me in, or else he didn't hear me, I don't know, and so I waited for him, and then when he came out I followed him upstairs and tried to explain to him about what I said at dinner, but he wouldn't really listen to me, and then suddenly I was apologizing to him for trying to make conversation and I'm not sure, but I think he was laughing at me."

"But he didn't...accost you?"

"No!"

"Curse you?"

"No!"

"Snog you until you couldn't see straight?" This last one with a grin.

"No! Angelina!" Where did the girl come up with such ideas? "I'm fine! Just annoyed and late and what are we doing standing out here discussing Snape anyway? Let's go in." She stomped over to the door, which was opened just at that moment by a man whose head was covered in feathers and sported a beak-like nose. His torso was likewise feathered, and on his back were folded two large wings. His trousers appeared to be made of yellow fur, and a long tufted tail was visible waving behind him.

"There you are!" the man cried. "Severus said you were out here. What are you waiting for? We're ready to start!" He ushered Angelina and Hermione in, giving Hermione a slightly concerned look.

"Remus, is that you?" Hermione asked, trying to suppress a laugh. "What are you-- Oh! A griffin!"

"It didn't come off too well, did it?" he admitted sheepishly. "I worked so long on the feathers and the beak, I didn't really have time left to do the lion part properly."

"No, it's great!" Hermione assured him.

"I didn't think I could pull off Godric, so I tried the next best thing. But what are you supposed to be?" he asked her, taking in her rumpled appearance.

"Oh! I didn't have time to change. I'm..." She tore off her outer robe, revealing her jumper and jeans underneath. "A Muggle!" she announced with a huge grin.

"Very...creative," Remus said politely.

"I know," she sighed, "I have a much better costume upstairs-- Beneficia the Bold-- but Snape kept me so long I didn't have time to go change."

"So did it go all right, then?" he asked.

Hermione told Remus what had happened. In the meantime, Minerva had opened the main doors, greeted the students, and gotten the Hallowe'en party started.

"I didn't think it would do any good," Remus commiserated once Hermione had finished.

"I'm not sure," she mused. "I think he was amused by the end."

"As long as you're satisfied."

"I suppose it's as much as I can expect."

"In that case, I don't suppose I can interest you in a cup of cider?"

xOxOxOx

Hermione spent most of the rest of the evening conversing with Remus, Angelina, Hagrid (who purported to be dressed up like a giant...Hermione for one couldn't see a lick of difference to his normal garb), and Professor Smith, the Muggle Studies teacher, who normally wore a Muggle suit to teach, but tonight had changed into wizard attire. Minerva had a word with Hermione about being late, but didn't make a big deal about it. Hermione also ventured out onto the dance floor a couple of times with Remus and Hagrid, but as none of them were really ones for dancing, they left it at that.

She caught glimpses of Snape throughout the evening. He was usually standing alone near at the edge of the room, arms crossed over his chest, glaring out at the students. Hermione noticed that many of the teachers made attempts at conversation with him, but one after another they gave up and left him alone again. Hermione couldn't help feeling sorry for him. Here he was, forced to attend a party that he obviously wasn't enjoying, which she could certainly sympathize with. but she didn't know how to help him enjoy it. Quite probably, he didn't want to enjoy it. She was wary about approaching him herself, especially as she wasn't sure whether he had maneuvered her into promising not to talk to him again--she thought not, but on the other hand she also thought he had made it clear that he didn't want her to talk to him. Oh why did he have to be so obtuse and complicated! Well, if he refused to accept talking, then at least she could show him that she didn't find his company unbearable. Excusing herself from Professor Smith, she made her way over to the corner where Snape was standing, and stood next to him. He glanced at her warily, but as she did not make any attempt to engage him in conversation, he made no remark, rather attempting to steadfastly ignore her.

_Great galloping Gytrashes! She's turning into a leech! And a Muggle one at that. It seems she will not take advice on her attire. Interesting, however: She's not saying anything. Perhaps I did manage to get through to her earlier. But then why is she standing there!_

He shifted somewhat uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

_How much longer does this infernal gathering go on? Surely it is nearly midnight. Am I to be forced to endure her company for the remainder of the evening?I am going to move away now, and if she follows me, so help me I shall be forced to hex her!_

Snape unfolded his arms and started to walk away.

Hermione reacted quickly. "Severus?"

_Groan._

"I thought I made it clear that you were to stop following me!"

_Do not engage in conversation_, Hermione thought to herself. "Would you like to dance?" She immediately felt her face get hot. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Now you're bugging him!_

An eyebrow went up. "I do not dance."

Smile. "OK."

Giving Hermione an inscrutable look, Snape turned and walked away.

_What in the Nine Hells was that about? I believe I actually preferred her inane babbling. Dance indeed!_

Hermione rolled her eyes and made her way back to Remus and Hagrid, who were sitting near an open door, getting some fresh air.

"I can't believe I just asked Snape to dance," she grouched, pulling up a chair.

"You what?" Remus chuckled. "Did he say yes?"

Hermione shot him a dirty look. "What do you think."

He grinned. "Apparently not."

"I didn't mean to," she explained helplessly, "I was just standing next to him, and he started to leave, so I had to think of something."

"Why?"

"So he'd know I didn't find his company unbearable. That it didn't matter if he didn't have anything interesting to say. I felt sorry for him, everyone else tried to talk to him but then left when he didn't warm up."

"Did it ever occur to you that he wanted to be left alone?" Remus asked quietly.

"I know," Hermione pouted, "but I just don't think he's happy."

"No, I don't suppose he is," Remus agreed.

"But why not? I mean, Voldemort's gone! The war's over, it's been over for years! And it's not like he's got anyone to mourn: He didn't lose anyone--" Hermione stopped herself, thinking suddenly of Dumbledore.

"Hermione," Remus said gently, "everyone lost something. Some more than others, yes, but Severus suffered losses that perhaps are not so easily seen."

"Dumbledore?"

"Yes, certainly, but also on the inside."

"He killed Dumbledore!" Hagrid interjected, unable to hold back any longer. He had been following the conversation with ever-increasing displeasure. "I don' see why you two are feelin' sorry fer 'im. He deserves whatever he's sufferin', an' more!"

"I can understand your feelings, Hagrid," Remus replied, "but we must remember that Severus was completely exonerated by the Wizengamot. Although I cannot help but think that he himself might have preferred to be sent to Azkaban, rather than to have had to return to his daily life."

"Wha'--?"

"Sometimes the punishments we give ourselves are much more brutal than those which others can apply." Remus said, hoping that the half-giant would understand.

Hagrid did not appear pleased by this explanation, but did not pursue the subject.

Remus then turned to Hermione and, taking her hands in his, looked into her deep brown eyes with his pale grey ones. "My dear, you have a heart of gold. I know you are only trying to help him. But I think you should leave him alone. He has, apparently, made a sort of peace with himself that allows him to function. Let us leave it at that."

Hermione also was not pleased by this, but likewise did not pursue it. At least not with Remus. In her head, however, she was already starting to knit hats.

_AN: Oh dear. Severus is proving more recalcitrant than I had thought, although I think I've got Hermione moving along in the right direction. We may have to apply a little brute force to poor old Sev. --rubs hands in anticipation--_


	7. Chapter 7 Detention

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

**CHAPTER 7**

**Detention**

"Oh Hermione, how are your plans for the play coming on?" Professor McGonagall asked as she passed her in the corridor one day in November.

Hermione stopped, maintaining control of the stack of books she was levitating before her. "It's getting more involved than I thought," she admitted.

Minerva nodded. "I had heard. Filius said that he and the Sixth Years were going to be helping out with the special effects, and I thought John said something about doing the sound and lights with the First Years," she added, referring to Professor Smith, the Muggle Studies teacher.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, "and Angelina's going to do the costumes with the Second Years. And I'm afraid Hagrid insists on contributing some of his 'critters'. I talked him down from the giant spiders. I think we've settled on a pair of Hinkypunks. I'll have to rewrite one of the scenes to take place in a swamp, but..." She trailed off at the look on the Headmistress's face.

"Is that so?" Minerva queried with raised eyebrows.

For a moment, Hermione thought she might have gone too far and gotten carried away. Who was she to get the whole school involved in a project like this? In all fairness, however, in its initial incarnation, it had been more of an academic exercise with the intention of presenting the story and encouraging exploration of the issues in a creative way. The students had gotten so enthusiastic about it, however, that the scale of the project had expanded seemingly of its own accord. Hermione was about to launch into a defense when Minerva continued, "Well, in that case I shall guide the Third Years in building the set."

"You will?" Hermione could hardly believe her ears.

"Yes, it will be a good exercise for them to practice their Transfiguration skills," she said briskly.

"Wow, thanks!"

"You're welcome," Minerva smiled, and continued on her way.

That covered just about everything then, Hermione thought happily, nudging her pile of books into motion again. Tonight was their first full run-through of the text, and, although she was nervous, she was also looking forward to it. She had nearly gotten to her office when Ophelia Dabb, one of the Fourth-Year actresses, came running up to her, practically in tears.

"Ophelia, what is it?" Hermione asked with alarm. Something in Ophelia's manner told her that there was something seriously wrong.

"Oh Professor, we can't do the rehearsal tonight!" she cried.

"Why not? What's happened?"

"It's Professor Snape. He's given us all detention!"

"What? What do you mean, all of you?"

"All of the Fourth year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors." Ophelia's lower lip quavered with the force of her breathing.

"He can't do that!"

"Can't he?" Ophelia asked with a glimmer of hope.

"Well, no, I suppose it's within his power to do so," Hermione admitted.

"Oh." Ophelia cast her eyes down, looking crestfallen.

"But I won't let him!" the Professor determined.

Ophelia looked up hopefully. "You won't?"

"Not if I can help it," she said grimly.

xOxOxOx

Hermione made her way back down to the dungeons for the third time in this school year. What in the world was the man playing at? He must know that they had a rehearsal tonight, and that the Fourth Years were absolutely essential to it. On the other hand, perhaps not; she certainly hadn't spoken to him about it, and if past experience was any indicator, none of the other staff would have, either.

Hermione had acquiesced to Remus's advice and left Snape alone since Hallowe'en. She reckoned that he was right: it would be kinder at the moment not to pester him. That didn't mean that she had abandoned her 'Snape Project', however. She had taken to greeting Snape faithfully at meals, as Remus did, and thereafter avoiding speaking to him. If he made a comment, no matter how biting, she would simply give him a friendly nod in acknowledgement. She wasn't sure, but she had the feeling that he appreciated both her reticence and her recognition of his presence. At least he hadn't directed any particularly nasty invectives her way in a couple of weeks.

But now he had forced a confrontation. Hermione could never remember an entire Double Potions class having received detention before, and she had the sneaking feeling that he was doing it specifically to annoy her. Banking on him being in his classroom, grading papers, she rapped smartly on the door.

"Enter," called out the familiar voice.

Hermione didn't hesitate to follow the directive, swinging the door inward on its hinges. She was immediately thrown back to her student days. A sour, burnt smell hung in the air, along with a touch of...pig? In any case, it was quite unpleasant. In looking around the room, she saw that almost everything looked exactly as she remembered it. The only immediate difference which she noted was that there were no cauldrons hanging from the hooks on the ceiling. Perhaps he had taken them down for cleaning.

Snape was sitting at his desk, as Hermione had predicted, with a ream of parchments before him. He looked up when she entered, and as he watched her through narrowed black eyes, Hermione very nearly had the feeling that it was she turning up for detention. Throwing off this unpleasant impression, she threw back her shoulders and marched over to his desk.

"Severus, I'm afraid I have a bone to pick with you," she stated as neutrally as she could.

Snape put his quill down and leaned back in his chair. "Oh yes?" he asked, just as neutrally, but Hermione could swear that his eyebrow had twitched, the right one, the one he habitually raised when he was, she thought, amused.

She tried to ignore the sneaking suspicion that he was just toying with her and plowed on. "Yes. It has come to my attention that you have given the Fourth-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs detention tonight. All of them."

Snape inclined his head slightly. "That is correct."

"Well you can't do that," Hermione objected.

"I already have," Snape countered.

Hermione exhaled through her nostrils. This wasn't going to get her anywhere; Snape was much better than she at these verbal sparring matches, they had already established that much.

"I don't suppose it will do any good to point out that I had planned a rehearsal for our play tonight...and that the Fourth Years are essential, seeing as they are filling all of the roles?"

"No," Snape stated coolly.

Hermione was momentarily distracted by a scratching, scrabbling noise coming from the ingredients pantry. She looked at Snape to determine whether he had heard anything, but he was still glaring at her. "No," she muttered, "I thought not. Well, perhaps you could tell me exactly why you have put all of my actors into detention on the very night when I need them most?"

"Not that it is any of your concern," he said lazily, "but it was one of those amusing little incidents you recalled so fondly from your own days as a student. It seems that some student or, more likely, students, took it upon themselves to Transfigure my entire stock of cauldrons into potbellied pigs." He stared steadfastly at Hermione, as if daring her to laugh..

She did, a bark that would have done Sirius proud. Then immediately clapped her hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry," she mumbled through her hand, not trusting herself to control her mirth.

"And," Snape continued, as if the outburst had not occurred, "as no one would own up to having done the deed, I was forced to place the entire class under detention."

"But--" Hermione blurted out, fighting to contain a snigger, "All the cauldrons? That must have been quite a feat."

"Quite. I am certain it was a group effort, particularly given the rather uneven quality of the transformations."

A high-pitched squeal from the pantry left Hermione in no doubt as to where the cauldrons slash pot-bellied pigs were currently being held. She considered; Snape was obviously not going to let the class off the hook. She couldn't even say that she blamed him. This was one instance where detention was not only necessary as a punishment, but in order to repair the damage; she was sure that Snape wouldn't be the one Transfiguring those pigs back into cauldrons. But that would take the Fourth Years all night, which meant they really couldn't have their rehearsal tonight. Suddenly, she had a brainstorm. She would make Snape an offer he couldn't refuse.

"How about a deal."

"A deal?"

"I will do detention with the students. In return, you let them go as soon as all the cauldrons are back to normal and don't make them do extra work like cleaning or lines."

_Interesting. Very impressive. A Slytherin deal if I ever heard one. The chance to have her serve detention is truly too good to pass up. Of course it won't turn out as she intends, but she doesn't need to know that yet._

The ghost of a smile passed over Snape's pale lips. "Very well. I agree. You may come at eight o'clock with the others."

"Oh, couldn't we make it seven?" Hermione asked, suddenly realizing that if they started that late, even if they could get the cauldrons fixed quickly, it wouldn't leave them much time to practice.

Snape picked up his quill again, leaned forward, and started reading the next parchment on his pile. "Eight o'clock." His tone of voice brooked no argument.

Clearly, the interview was over. Hermione nodded mutely and left, once again having the feeling that she had come out with the short end of the deal.

_Oh yes. This will be good._

xOxOxOx

"All right everyone," Hermione called out, clapping her hands, "Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors line up! The rest of you, keep practicing your text, or you can get out other homework to work on until we're back." She didn't have any illusions that the Slytherin students would actually follow those orders, but she felt it was a Professor-ish thing to have said.

There was general confusion as the students tried to follow Hermione's instructions, and it was several minutes before the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were ready to follow her down to the dungeons. She had assembled the students immediately following dinner and been able to get in a good forty-five minutes of practice before they had to go to the Potions classroom for detention. She hoped that, with her help, they would be able to Transfigure the cauldrons back quickly and get back in time for some further practice before curfew.

They didn't have far to go, but it still tried Hermione's patience to see how some of the Hufflepuff girls were dawdling, giggling over a teen magazine as they walked. It was all she could do not to rip the paper out of their hands and tell them to get a move on. In the end, they arrived right on the button. Hermione knocked briefly, then led the students in.

Snape was still sitting at his desk, grading papers. Had he even gone to dinner? Hermione wondered. She had been too busy notifying all the students of the change in plans for the evening to notice.

"Ah, there you are," he said, looking up. "I was beginning to wonder whether you would hold up your end of the bargain, Professor Granger."

"As you can see, I have, Professor Snape. Now, if you'll let us get started on the cauldrons--"

Snape stood up and came out from behind his desk in one fluid motion, sweeping his robe after him. "I shall get the students started in a moment. First, however, let me introduce you to your task for the evening."

"My task? But I'm helping them with the cauldrons," Hermione frowned.

Snape stopped in front of Hermione. "No. We agreed that you would serve detention with this class, and that they would be occupied with reversing the considerable damage which they did to school property; not that you would help them."

Hermione gaped. "You have to be kidding. That's not fair!"

"It wouldn't be fair for _you_ to repair _their_ mistake, however much I know you enjoy doing others' work for them." He gave her a hard look that told her he was referring to her days as a student, when she had often done Ron and Harry's homework for them.

"But they'll never be able to Transfigure all those cauldrons back tonight! Especially if they couldn't manage to Transfigure them properly in the first place!"

"You are undoubtedly correct in your assessment," Snape acquiesced. "That is why they have been assigned detention for this entire week."

"The whole week?" Hermione screeched. "You didn't tell me that!" She rounded on the students, who had been eagerly attending to the discussion, and accused them as well, "You didn't tell me that!"

"Please, Professor," one of the Gryffindor boys said, "the way you explained it, we thought we'd be done tonight for sure."

"So did I," Hermione muttered, fuming.

"Well. I can see we are all eager to be getting to our tasks. Students, you will wait exactly where you are and _not touch_ _anything_," Snape snarled, practically baring his teeth at them. He then turned to Hermione-- "Professor,"-- and led her to a sink.

Next to the sink was a basket full of black socks. "There you are," he said, nodding at it.

"There I am what? What am I supposed to do?" she asked crossly, still trying to figure a way of getting the cauldrons fixed in a timely fashion.

"You are to wash the socks," Snape said. "Without magic."

Hermione goggled at him. Was he insane? "Now you really are kidding. Whose are these-- These aren't your socks, are they?" she asked in horror.

The corners of Snape's mouth curled in what might pass on another planet for a smile.

Hermione only now began to fathom the depths of Snape's fiendishness. "Well I'm not going to wash them. I refuse." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"You are serving detention, Professor," Snape reminded her. "It is not up to you to determine what form that detention takes."

"You cannot make me wash your socks," she flatly stated.

"Am I to assume, then, that you wish to back out of our agreement?"

"It's not much of an agreement anymore, is it? You know full well I only suggested that I come along so that we could fix your cauldrons quickly and get on with our own work."

Snape sighed in a disgusted manner. "I see that I was not mistaken in my initial assessment of you. You are self-serving, disrespectful in the extreme, and, still, immature, despite the slight improvement in your manners over the past few weeks. In other words, still a Gryffidor through and through, in the Potter tradition."

"Spoken like a true Slytherin," Hermione shot back with narrowed eyes. "Thank you for reminding me of my House loyalties, Professor. You've made me realize it would be quite _Slytherin_ of me to back out of an agreement just because it turns out not to be to my advantage...although it was a deal only a Slytherin could have made, dishonorable and sneaky. I was counting on the integrity of your character to uphold the spirit of the agreement, which you understood full well." Hermione took a breath and added, more gently, "I do believe that you are a basically honorable and principled man, you know." She then picked up the basket, dumped the socks into the sink, and turned on the water.

_Ye gods, she's actually going to do it. _

Snape was, frankly, stunned. Certainly by the fact that Hermione Granger willingly (well, all right, under duress) agreed to wash his socks, but more so by her having said that she believed him to be honorable. He was the farthest thing from honorable in the world. He was angry at her now for having said that, angry that she was touching his dirty laundry with her fair, nimble fingers, and what irritated him the most was the way her hair would not stay put in that infernal braid she insisted on wearing. Why could she not adopt a more sensible hairstyle, something like Minerva wore?

He rounded on the students, most of whom could barely believe the argument they had just witnessed. Several mouths snapped shut when he fixed them with his baleful glare. He swooped past them, muttering, "Follow me," through clenched teeth, and went over to the pantry. None of the students budged. "What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?" he barked. "Over here, now!" He pointed at a point on the floor just in front of the pantry, and the students moved en masse to obey, not a word being uttered. "Wands out!" he snapped. "Perkins, Jessup, ready for _Immobulus_, the rest of you, stand back! On my mark! One, two, three!" He whipped the door open, and two black shapes the size of-- well, the size of number two cauldrons-- darted out and into the crowd of students. And the chase was on.

Hermione watched the fracas with half an eye. Most of the cauldrons really had not been Transfigured very well, being little more than hairy pots with legs, or even just a tail, and as such were pretty easy to catch hold of. One, however, was quite frisky and evaded even Perkins, a Gryffindor whom Hermione knew to be an ace pupil. The creature blundered among the chairs, knocking over a few, and trotted over toward the corner where Hermione was standing. Normally, she would have made quick work of the errant swine, but she had agreed (sort of) not to help with the pigs, and she meant to stick to it, so she satisfied herself with simply observing where the animal went and pointing it out to Perkins.

"Sorry we got you involved, Professor," he mumbled sheepishly, the now-immobilized pig-cauldron in tow.

"I got myself involved," Hermione said with a wry smile, flicking soap suds from her fingers.

"He's a right git, making you do his laundry," the boy sympathized, obviously allowing the fact that Hermione had earlier stated her fond feelings for their common House to create a certain camaraderie between them. "We all hate him." He clearly hoped that this sentiment would entrench him in Hermione's good graces.

How wrong he was. "Mr. Perkins," Hermione said with a dark look that was not entirely unlike the one which habitually graced Snape's face, "that's one of your Professors you're talking about. Not only that, but _Professor_ Snape--" she emphasized the title "--is a man you and in fact the entire wizarding world owe a great deal to. I never want to hear-- no, I forbid you, ever, to talk about Professor Snape in any other manner than with respect and deference. I know that he and I had-- well, I was unhappy about having made a deal that wasn't to my advantage," she admitted. Realizing that many of the students had stopped wrestling the pigs into positions where they could Transfigure them back and were listening to her, Hermione turned a little so that they could hear her better. "And maybe I shouldn't have said some of the things I said, but that's between him and me, and I am fulfilling my part of the bargain. And it's true that you all shouldn't have messed with those cauldrons, and now you see what a pain it is to have to fix. Did you think that Professor Snape would do it for you?" She saw the cross and disappointed expressions on several faces, but that didn't faze her. She was not one of their peers, she was their teacher, and one of the things they should learn from her was how to deal with unpleasant situations without resorting to name-calling or unethical wand use. And another thing they would learn from her, was that Severus Snape was not a 'right git' deserving of insults.

Hermione returned to the basin full of socks, and the students returned, grumpy yet resigned, to their task, shooting Snape furtive looks. The Potions Master was sitting at his desk, bent over student essays, quill scratching away, apparently oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place. But he had heard it. Every last word. And each one had killed him a little more.

_AN: The grapes are getting riper. Just a little more sun before they'll be ripe for the picking. And squeezing!_


	8. Chapter 8 The Play

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_AN: OK, kiddies, enough with the funny stuff. It's time for a little angst and schrecken. Oh, and thanks ever so much for reading along and reviewing! You guys are aces!_

**CHAPTER 8**

**The Play**

By the time the final curtain went down, Severus Snape was in a towering rage. He had come to see the production, he had to admit, out of curiosity, but as the evening wore on, he had become more and more uneasy about the way the play was developing, until the climactic scene had sealed his opinion once and for all that Hermione Granger had staged the production solely in order to humiliate and torment him. Well, perhaps not solely, but she had certainly gotten in her digs wherever she could.

The story had centered on the historical events of the Salem Witch Trials in Puritan Massachusetts. He couldn't find fault with the plot, which had undoubtedly been historically accurate, but it was clear that Hermione had used the bare facts to explore certain ethical issues, most of which hit uncomfortably close to home for Severus's taste.

It wasn't even as if the barbs (which he was sure had been placed there to wound him) had been veiled, visible only to him; no, anyone who had even a vague acquaintance with Severus's background could hardly have failed to notice them, to notice Hermione's condemnation of his entire existence.

He obviously could not take this lying down. Once the lights came up, before the last of the raucous applause had even died out, Snape was hastening to the front of the room, a black thundercloud intent on raining on a certain Professor for the History of Magic's parade.

He couldn't see Hermione at first, as the cast members were swarming out from the backstage area like so many buzzing flies. He swatted them out of the way, seeking the frizzy head he wanted, right now, to bite off. Then he saw her, chattering excitedly with a couple of attractive Sixth Year boys who were a good half foot taller than her. They were all three of them obviously very pleased. He felt a renewed surge of outrage and it was all he could do to avoid pulling his wand as he reached them, though whether to use it on her or on the boys was unclear even to him.

"Professor," he interruped, fighting to keep his voice low. He didn't want to lose control, lose face, in front of the students again. "Congratulations on a most _successful_ production."

Hermione looked up at him, the look of delight on her face dying when she saw the hard lines, the displeasure apparent on his. "Thank you, Professor," she said politely, unsure what to make of the disconsonance between his words and his appearance.

"If I might have a word with you?" Not waiting for a response, he took her elbow between his fingers and steered her back behind the stage. A group of girls was there, squealing and congratulating each other, but they, too, became somber and wary when they saw the two professors approaching, especially given the ferocity of the one's expression.

"Out!" Snape glowered at them.

They scurried away, whispering among themselves and casting nervous looks back behind them.

"What is it?" Hermione asked with a frown, once they were alone.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" he snarled, maintaining a firm hold on her arm.

"What?" she asked, confused. "I don't understand." She tried to twist her arm out of his grip, but he would have none of that.

"You think you're quite clever, don't you? Is this your way of getting back at me?" He pulled her arm closer, until they were standing toe to toe, and leaned over her in what was either a very intimate, or very threatening, gesture.

Hermione shook her head. "Getting back at you? I don't--"

"Don't play that with me!" he spat, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Acting the ignorant doesn't suit you."

"Professor-- Severus--" she whispered hoarsely. "Please, let go, you're scaring me." She felt in her robe for the security of the twelve-inch length of vine wood encasing a dragon heartstring.

Snape took note of her widened eyes and it filled him with self-revulsion. "What else do you expect?" he said, his mouth twisting in an ugly grimace. "I am a Death Eater, after all. Scaring Muggles and Mudbloods is my raison d'etre."

"You're--" Hermione shook her head and swallowed, her throat dry. "You're not a Death Eater. Not in your heart."

"How dare you have the temerity to tell me what is in my heart," he roared. He, whose heart was blacker than pitch.

"But I didn't-- Tell me what this is about, please!" she pleaded, her hand clutched tightly around her wand. She didn't truly think that he would do anything to her here, with the low roar of hundreds of voices just around the corner, but she had rarely seen him in such a temper, and it did scare her.

"This is about you raking me over the coals before the entire school!" he thundered. "This is about you sitting in judgment over me, you and your high-minded friends!" Not that her portrayal of his misdeeds had been any less accurate than that of the Witch Trials.

Hermione could feel the heat streaming out of his body and the air coming out of his nose in sharp blasts, could see the ugly red blotches on his face and the clear spittle at the corners of his mouth, could smell the dungeon mustiness of his clothing and pungent musk of his anger. (Attractive, ain't he?) His body tensed, and she was about to flinch away from the blow she instinctively felt was coming when a woman's voice called, "Hey, Herm--"

Angelina stopped short and took in the sight of Severus Snape standing threateningly over Hermione, grasping her arm in what looked like a very uncomfortable way, and Hermione cringing away with a frightened look on her face. She didn't need to see any more.

"Get your filthy paws off her!" she screamed, pulling her wand as she advanced on the pair.

Snape let go of Hermione's arm delicately, his hand still hovering at her elbow. He immediately put on a blank face. "Professor Johnson."

"What the hell is going on here?" Angelina demanded, shoving her wand arm in between Snape and Hermione, who appeared to be dazed.

"I was simply congratulating Professor Granger on her achievement tonight," Snape explained calmly. "It seems that she has..._succeeded_ in her purpose." He gave Hermione a hard look.

Angelina glared at Snape and elbowed her way in between him and Hermione. She grabbed Hermione's shoulders and looked her in the eye. "Are you all right?" she asked, her face tight with concern.

"I-- Yes," Hermione nodded, glancing at Snape with a confused and wounded expression.

"Hermione, look at me," Angelina insisted, having noticed the way Hermione had immediately sought Snape's eye.

Hermione looked back at the other witch and said, firmly, "I'm fine."

"Right, I'm getting you out of here," Angelina determined. She put her arm around Hermione's shoulders and led her away from Snape, who stood rooted to the spot. "And if I find out you've done anything-- _anything_ to her, you'll be on the next broom to Azkaban, and it'll be mine!" she yelled over her shoulder.

"What was that all about?" Angelina asked Hermione, once they were out of ear shot of Snape.

"I have absolutely no idea," Hermione admitted, still feeling a little shaky in the knees. "He said he wanted to talk to me, and then he dragged me back there and started ranting about me getting back at him and him being a Death Eater--"

"What?" Angelina stopped and stared at Hermione, aghast. "I knew there was something going on with that man. We're going to see McGonagall."

xOxOxOx

"All right, Angelina, what is this all about?" Minerva McGonagall had taken her seat in the George I wing chair after making sure that all of the assembled company were settled before the grate in her office with a cup of tea. In addition to Angelina and Hermione, she had asked Remus Lupin to join them.

"This is ridiculous, Minerva," Hermione blurted out. "Professor Snape hasn't done anything to me."

"How do you know?" Angelina demanded. "Maybe he _Imperius_ed you or something!"

"Oh please!" Hermione rolled her eyes.

Remus reached out and put a calming hand on her arm. "Just bear with us a moment, Hermione. I'm sure this will all turn out to be a misunderstanding, but it's best to be sure."

Minerva nodded to Angelina to continue, and she began, "Well, it started back on the day of the first Hogsmeade outing, when Hermione and I were supervising along with Snape."

"Professor Snape, please, Angelina," Minerva reminded her. "We shall at least do the man the courtesy of referring to him by his proper title."

"Yes, OK, _Professor_ Snape," Angelina muttered. "Anyway, Hermione went down to get him, because he was late, and when she came back, she was...I don't know, kind of weird." Angelina gave Hermione a furtive glance.

"Weird?" The Headmistress raised her eyebrows. "Could you be more precise?"

Angelina cleared her throat and furrowed her brow, trying to remember. "It was like...like she was all out of breath, kind of excited."

"That's because I'd just run up from the dungeons!" Hermione cried.

"I made some joke that maybe she and Snape had... you know..." she waved her hand in the air meaningfully and looked around to make sure everyone was with her, "and she said they'd had some sort of argument."

"It wasn't an argument," Hermione rushed to explain, "it was more like a...disagreement."

"Yes?" Minerva prompted, as Hermione had fallen silent.

Hermione sighed. She really didn't want to blacken Snape's name. "Words were exchanged, he somehow managed to make me look like a fool, by that time we were late and had to run upstairs. No _Imperius_. Or anything else!" she added, glaring at Angelina, who shrugged. Remus smiled to himself.

"Well, that seems innocent enough," Minerva agreed. "And completely in character for Severus."

"Wait, that's not all," Angelina said. "Then there was Hallowe'en. I was late-- sorry--" She ducked her head at Minerva, who gave her a stern look. "--and I came across Hermione in the staff corridor leading into the Great Hall. She was weird again. She hadn't changed into her costume or anything, her clothes were all rumpled, and she was...kind of spaced out this time. Said something about Snape-- _Professor_ Snape-- but this time she didn't seem totally clear on what had happened."

Minerva turned to Hermione. "Hermione, do you care to explain your version of that evening?"

"OK, remember that was the night when Professor Snape got so angry at me during dinner, and left?" She looked to Remus for backup, and he nodded. "Right, so I went down to try and talk to him, but I couldn't find his quarters, so I waited for him."

"The ashwinder," Remus chuckled softly.

"Excuse me?" Hermione said.

Remus cleared his throat. "The ashwinder trophy," he repeated. "There is a stuffed ashwinder mounted on the wall about halfway between the Potions classroom and the Slytherin Common Room. The snake is the guardian to Severus's private rooms."

Of course, Hermione thought, the ashwinder. Not only was the snake a symbol for the House of Slytherin, but ashwinder eggs were potent potion ingredients. How appropriate.

"Yes, well I didn't know that," Hermione went on, "so I stood in the hall and waited. I knew I was going to be late, but it was more important to me to clear things between me and Professor Snape."

"Why?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Because I don't like how everyone treats him," Hermione said defiantly, glancing at Angelina, who shook her head and stared into the fire. "I keep hearing students, _and_ professors, calling him names and talking about him like he's still a Death Eater, like he's some terrible monster, and that's wrong. I was just trying to be nice to him, and he thought I was baiting him, because he's never had anyone be nice to him before. I just wanted to explain to him, and show him that not everyone thought he was so terrible."

Minerva sighed. "Hermione, your intentions are admirable, and I must say that to a great extent I agree with you, especially where the name-calling is concerned." Here she gave Angelina another warning look, but the Quidditch instructor was still staring petulantly at the fire. "You are not the first one to attempt to befriend Severus. I myself have made countless attempts to engage him in conversation and to show interest in his work, as have other staff members, but our combined efforts have been fruitless. I am certain Remus can tell a similar tale." She looked at the Head of Gryffindor House over the top of her glasses, the flickering light from the fire in the grate reflected in her eyes.

Remus cleared his throat again, and as he spoke, he, too, stared into the fire. "I've said it before: I believe that Severus has demons within him that he has fought long and hard to control. I'm afraid that he sees any attempts to get close to him as meddling in his life, stirring up the spirits he has kept subdued for so long." He looked over at Hermione and gave her a small, apologetic smile.

Angelina banged her fist on the arm of her chair and rounded on Hermione. "But that doesn't explain why you were disoriented when I found you!"

"Disoriented?" Hermione shook her head. "I knew exactly where I was."

"What about your clothes? Your appearance?" she exclaimed. "You told me Snape had done something, but you weren't sure what! Now if that isn't the _Imperius_!"

"When Severus finally came out of his room," Hermione continued with her narrative, unperturbed, "it was nearly time for the party to start, and he wasn't interested in listening to what I had to say."

Angelina harrumphed.

"But I followed him upstairs and tried to talk to him while we were walking. Finally, in the staff corridor, he stopped and somehow, I don't remember exactly what he said, turned everything around to make it look like I'd done something wrong and I had to apologize to him." She looked at Minerva helplessly. "I always end up talking myself into a corner with him."

"I know just the feeling," Minerva consoled her with a wry smile.

"So when Angelina found me, I guess I was just trying to puzzle out where I'd gone wrong. I was out of breath and my clothes were rumpled because I'd been running up the stairs again. Nothing else happened!" She glared at Angelina.

"And tonight?" Angelina countered. "What about tonight, huh? That didn't look like he was just _talking_ you into a corner! And what about the part about him being a Death Eater?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "It was a little unnerving." She turned to Remus. "He was really, really upset about something. He kept saying I had insulted him, embarrassed him in front of the whole school. And he did grab my arm, really hard. I don't think I've ever seen him that angry."

"He hurt you?" Remus asked quickly.

"I--" Hermione instinctively felt her arm where Severus had held on to her. It wasn't sore; he hadn't actually bruised her, but she could still feel the ghost of the steely fingers clasped around her bone. "No, he scared me more than anything else."

"Did he threaten you in any way," Minerva asked, her tone suddenly deadly serious.

"No..." Hermione hesitated. "I mean, he did say something about being a Death Eater and hurting Muggles and..." She swallowed, disliking using the hateful term that he had employed. "And... Muggle-borns."

"Only that's not the word he used, is it?" Angelina pressed her.

"No," Hermione said in a small voice, looking at her hands.

Remus hissed and Minerva pressed her lips together in a thin line.

"But I don't think he meant it as a threat," Hermione rushed to defend him. "I think it had something to do with why he was so upset."

"And you have no idea what it was?" Minerva asked in a tone that suggested that Hermione was trying to hide something from them.

"Really, no!" Hermione insisted. "I haven't even talked to him in a couple of weeks. Other than just hello at meals, I mean, and you and Remus do that, too, have for years. I can't believe he's suddenly flipping out over that."

"Nor do I," Minerva agreed, her brow furrowed. "But was there anything else? Have you made any further attempts to...be nice to him?"

"I haven't had time," Hermione said, "what with the play..." Her voice trailed off.

Remus noticed that Hermione had become pensive. "Have you thought of something?" he prompted.

"Oh, but that was a couple of weeks ago," Hermione said dismissively. She told them about the incident with the detention. "And in the end, I was the one who looked foolish, didn't I?" she finished the tale by saying. "I don't think that's what he was on about tonight."

"You actually washed his socks?" Angelina said, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Oh come on," Hermione rolled her eyes, "it's not like they were poisonous. They didn't even smell."

Angelina shuddered. "I would have walked out at that, deal or no deal."

"You know," Remus said thoughtfully, "I'm not so sure that that might not have been part of it. I don't believe that, to the students anyway, you did look so much like a fool. You were certainly the more sympathetic figure to them from the start, seeing as how you offered to help them with their assignment, and Severus delegating an onerous task to you, which you submitted to on the basis of a code of honour, would quite probably have served to increase your standing in their eyes and to lessen his. He will certainly have realized this. He isn't stupid."

"But I was on his side," Hermione argued. "I told them that he was right and I was wrong, and I didn't help them."

"You may have seen it that way," Remus said kindly, "but I am quite certain that neither the students nor Severus did. To them, you were a martyr for their cause, and to him, a self-righteous Gryffindor who was trying to show him up, although he would probably employ more colourful words."

"I agree," Minerva concurred. "But why he waited until tonight to confront her..."

There was silence for a moment, then Remus said, as if in wonderment, "The play's the thing wherein to catch the conscience of the king."

Minerva looked at him sharply. "The play--?"

Remus nodded. "The play." He turned to Hermione. "It was the play."

"But he didn't have anything to do with the play," Hermione protested.

"No, but the play had something to do with him," Remus said quietly.

"No it didn't, unless he's over three hundred years old..." A strange feeling overcame Hermione. "He isn't is he?" she asked in an incredulous whisper.

"No, he most certainly is not," Minerva snapped. "Don't be daft, Remus, how could that play tonight have provoked such a reaction from him?"

"Philomena's trial, first of all," Remus explained. "She was innocent, and had to stand trial for something that everyone believed her guilty of. Just like Severus."

"Oh, come now," Minerva scoffed. "That is pretty far-fetched."

"Yes, why would that have made him angry?" Hermione puzzled. "If he did even see it as an event from his own life, the point was that Philomena, and he, were innocent."

"Maybe, maybe not," Remus shrugged. "It was perhaps enough that he saw his past being dredged up again. It seems that Hermione may unwittingly have set something off in Severus during that detention. Even if completely unintentionally," he assured Hermione, who had opened her mouth to protest once again. "Perhaps he felt that, in her eyes, he had deeply injured her pride or her standing before the students. Imagine how he would have felt to do what you did in front of a roomful of students."

Hermione could just imagine the acute embarrassment he would have felt, and nodded. She, on the other hand, hadn't been embarrassed at all. Not about washing the socks, anyway. She had been somewhat ashamed of having carried out the argument in front of the students, however.

"So maybe that's what he meant about me getting back at him?" she ventured.

"Possibly," Remus mused. "But I think the real crisis for him came at the end, during Maggie's monologue."

"Yes," Minerva said slowly, "I believe I am beginning to see what you mean."

"As a witch, Maggie had it in her power to help the Muggles like Philomena who were being falsely accused of witchcraft. Yet she couldn't do anything without risking exposing herself."

"Or quite possibly the entire wizarding community," Minerva added. "This was before the _Obliviate_ spell was discovered, so everyone had to be extremely careful."

"So she was guilt-racked, having to stand by and watch innocent people being put to death," Remus continued.

"And you think that's how Severus felt during his time as a Death Eater?" Hermione asked, finding herself saddened at the thought.

"I would say so," Remus assented. "And, I would say, he felt that you--" he looked at Hermione somberly "--were condemning him for not having done anything."

"But she _had_ to, _he_ had to!" Hermione insisted. "They didn't have a choice! There was no condemnation, in fact the rest of the witches and wizards had to restrain her from acting! It was clear that she wanted to help!"

"There is always a choice," Remus said softly, catching Hermione's eye. "And you portrayed Maggie as feeling culpable in her own eyes, and perhaps in the eyes of the Muggles, even if she was not to her fellow witches and wizards. I think that is what was stirred in Severus: his own feeling of culpability, the consequences of the choices he made."

"But-- So you're saying that Severus thought I was pointing out to the entire school that he stood by and watched the Death Eaters do terrible things, as revenge for him humiliating me in front of the students during detention?" Hermione summarized. The whole thing was sick and at the same time utterly laughable.

Remus shrugged. "Only he can answer that, and I don't think he will."

Everyone was silent for a minute, digesting the information that had been shared. Finally, Minerva stirred. "Well, I think it is clear that Hermione has not been placed under the _Imperius_ curse. Although I do feel that Severus has severely tested the limits of decency and propriety. I shall have a word with him tomorrow."

"Oh please, don't do that," Hermione pleaded. "It will only embarrass him more!"

Angelina snorted. "Hermione, when are you going to get it through your head that he can't go around treating people like that! Someone has to stop him!"

"If the Headmistress hasn't been able to stop him by now, I don't think her talking to him again will do any good," Hermione shot back. Then, realizing what she had just said, she cringed and said meekly, "Sorry, Minerva."

Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared, indicating that she was indignant over the insubordination. She seemed on the verge of a sharp reply, but then reconsidered and sighed. "I'm afraid you are probably right, Hermione, but I don't know what else to do. I cannot let this behaviour continue. I do not wish Severus any ill, but he is making the situation here untenable for all of us."

"Let me try talking to him again," Hermione pleaded. She was worried now that McGonagall was thinking of terminating Snape's contract.

"Yeah, that's worked really well up to now," Angelina sneered. "If the Headmistress's authority doesn't impress him, how do you think you're going to?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted miserably. "I just-- I don't want him to have any unpleasant consequences because of me."

"It is not because of you, Hermione, it is entirely his own doing. I will be speaking to him tomorrow," Professor McGonagall stated in a voice that brooked no argument. "It is late. I would suggest that we all retire for the night and see what the morning brings." She stood, indicating that the audience was at an end.

The three Gryffindors stood as well. Angelina tossed a gruff "Good night" into the round and stomped out. Minerva walked the other two to the door. "I wouldn't worry too much about Severus, Hermione," she said, in an attempt to be consoling. "He's a resourceful man. He's been able to fend for himself for a long time now."

Hermione shook her head. "Please, Minerva, don't fire him."

"I admit the thought had crossed my mind, but I think we shall wait and see what the morrow brings," Minerva said. "Now, good night."

Remus and Hermione descended the spiral staircase and started toward Gryffindor Tower, where both of them had their rooms. "Would you like to come up? For a tea or something?" Remus offered. "I know it's late, but...you look like you're still all wound up."

Hermione smiled kindly at her friend. "Thanks, Remus. Another time?" She felt bad turning him down; she knew how much he liked to have her to himself. She didn't think that he fancied her, exactly, but they did have a special kind of friendship, one that she couldn't have with anyone else. He was a man, yes, and they weren't shy about touching each other; Remus often laid his head in Hermione's lap as they read in his room on Sunday afternoons; she gladly snuggled up to him for warmth when they were watching a Quidditch match (she attended mostly out of loyalty to Angelina and the Gryffindors; she had never truly gotten bitten by the Quidditch bug herself). But it was a safe kind of relationship to Hermione, one that would never be fraught by the complications of sexual attraction. In her mind, it was pretty much as if Remus were homosexual. Due to their age difference, his lycanthropy, the fact that he still seemed to be mourning Tonks, and the fact that they had known each other for this long and there had never been a sexually charged moment between them, Hermione assumed that his feelings were the same as hers, and that was a comfortable way to be.

But right now, tonight, she had something to do that she felt shy telling Remus about. For some reason, she didn't think he would take well to the fact that she was going to go down to the dungeons and try to talk to Snape again. She had to talk to him before the Headmistress did.

Remus walked Hermione to her door, and she pretended to go in, watching him walk around the corner with his slow, loping gait, then hastily shut and locked her door again and ran quietly back downstairs. As a professor, she didn't need to worry about being out after curfew, but it still made her jumpy to be wandering the deserted halls.

The ashwinder. The passage down to the dungeon was dark and murky, the magical torches having been dimmed for the night. Hermione felt a chill emanating from the stones on all sides. It was December now, and the halls were cold. She wished she'd thought to grab her winter cloak, but hopefully she wouldn't be hanging around out here for that long. She passed the Potions classroom and then slowed her pace, scanning the walls for a snake. There it was. A grey serpent curled up into a spiral S, mounted on a wooden plaque, in her mouth a dusty red egg. Hermione touched the egg tentatively, the ran her fingers over the dry, brittle scales. She didn't see how to activate it. Maybe it was waiting for a password, which of course she did not have.

"Severus?" she said clearly. "Severus, it's Hermione. I need to talk to you." She waited a moment. The ashwinder stared at her with dead eyes. The silence pressed on her ears. It became clear that she was going to have about as much luck with this approach as she had had on Hallowe'en. At least she knew now where the entrance to his quarters was, so he couldn't sneak out or sneak up on her. She consulted her timepiece. It was just past ten o'clock. He probably wasn't asleep yet; he was obviously just avoiding her. But this time it was important. She knocked at the wall and called his name again, then leaned back against the opposite wall to wait.

xOxOxOx

Snape had retreated to his room as soon as possible following his confrontation with Hermione, fleeing the excited swirl of activity and plans for after-parties. None of that concerned him. They were all relieved, even the Slytherins, when they saw him leaving. The first thing he had done was to sweep all the parchments, books, quills, and ink bottles from the table, sending them flying across the room. Then he had braced his arms against the table, head down, breathing hard, seeing nothing but red.

_Eyes closed. Black. It does not concern me. Nothing. Those actions are not my actions. Blank. I am not that. Empty. I am that._

The floor was still littered and stained. The House-Elves would take care of it tomorrow, when he wasn't there.

_When I'm not here... What a temptingly eternal ring that phrase has..._

He was sitting in the camelback leather arm chair, staring into the fire, a glass of now-lukewarm Rooibus tea hanging by the tips of his fingers. He never drank alcohol; in his former life as a Death Eater, when a Summons from the Dark Lord could have come at any time, he couldn't afford a clouded mind, not for a second. And old habits were hard to break. Very hard.

_If Johnson hadn't shown up when she did... Merlin only knows what I would have done to Granger, but it wouldn't have been pleasant...for either of us. Why does she have to keep pursuing me? Oh I know what she's doing, I know all too well, insufferable do-gooder that she is. She's trying to show what a big person she is, how she can even be friendly with the fiendish Severus Snape. _

Snape's head snapped toward the door. Someone was there... Her. He slowly turned back to the fire.

xOxOxOx

A cat meowed. Plaintively. Insistently. _Crookshanks? Do you need to be fed?_ Hermione felt distinctly cold and uncomfortable. Was there a window open somewhere? Wait-- Again the meow. Intense. Demanding. That wasn't Crookshanks. That was--

"What is it, my pet?"

Hermione forced one eye open. A bloodshot, yellow-whited eye was staring at her. A scream escaped her, and she grabbed for her wand.

The eye retreated, allowing Hermione to see the face it belonged to. It was a leathery, deeply-lined face, hung about with stringy grey hair. And it was scowling. Filch. Mrs. Norris was rubbing herself against his shins, obviously pleased with her quarry.

"Filch!" Hermione exclaimed, scrambling to stand. She was sitting on the floor in the dungeon corridor opposite the ashwinder trophy. She must have fallen asleep.

Argus Filch squinted and peered at her, as if not sure that she was who she seemed to be. "Professor Granger," he finally stated in his raspy voice, and it might have been that he was disappointed.

Hermione's heart was beating wildly, both from the shock of being awoken and from the vague feeling that she had been caught doing something she oughtn't to have been doing.

"Erm... I was... waiting to see Professor Snape," she quickly explained before she realized that neither had Filch asked for an explanation, nor was she, as a professor, beholden to give him one.

"Snape, eh?" he echoed, searching her up and down.

Hermione drew her robes more firmly about her and stood up straight. "Yes," she said, looking him in the eye. Her feet were numb from the cold, and her fingers stiff on her wand.

"At this hour?" He seemed skeptical.

"I fell asleep," she stated with as much dignity as she could muster, trying to suppress her shiver reflex.

"You had a bit of a run-in with him earlier, didn't ye?" He looked very suspicious. He clearly had an ear to the ground for everything that went on around Hogwarts, and Hermione knew where his loyalties lay...and they weren't with Gryffindor. She was, quite frankly, insulted by his attitude, and was about to take the caretaker to task for questioning a professor's intentions when an idea presented itself to her.

"I don't know that it's any of your business," she said huffily, hoping that the fact that she had to clench her teeth together to prevent them from chattering lent her a stern air. "I am a professor now, Filch, and if I wish to teach another professor a lesson for his own good, I can bloody well do so without your permission!" She glared at him.

Filch was obviously having a hard time swallowing the fact that he was supposed to kowtow to this witch, whom he clearly still viewed as a student, magisterial title notwithstanding. Hermione could tell, though, that he was about to come down on the side of capitulation, and hastened to add, "It's about time someone took Snape and the entire Slytherin House down a few notches. I think they're getting too full of themselves." She hoped against hope that Snape wasn't able to hear her; otherwise she would be ruining everything before she even got a chance to talk to him, but it was the only way she could think of to--

"Is that right?" Filch was saying, a nasty glint in his eye. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like he had bitten. "I wonder what Professor Snape would say if he knew you were skulking about here, on _Slytherin_ territory, in the wee hours of the morning?"

"I don't really know, and I don't really care," Hermione sniffed disdainfully. Actually, she sniffed because her nose was running, but she tried to turn it into a disdainful sneer.

"How about we...see!" Quicker than Hermione would have thought it possible for the Squib to move, Filch pressed on the red orb in the ashwinder's mouth and called, "Professor! Professor! You'd better come out here!" He hadn't taken his eye off Hermione for a moment, clearly wary of the wand which she held in her fist. Now they both waited, Filch eyeing Hermione with a look that was both greedy and triumphant, and Hermione silently pleading that this entire scheme wouldn't backfire. She had never been very good at schemes.

After a very few moments, the wall with the stuffed snake swung inwards and Snape appeared in the opening, his eyes flashing. He was wearing a black dressing gown, belted at the waist, and did not appear to have been just woken up. "What is it, Filch--" His gaze immediately lighted on Hermione, and the thought came to her that this perhaps had not been such a good idea after all. He did not look pleased. She feared that he had heard their entire exchange.

Filch, on the other hand, looked to be beside himself with glee. "I found Professor Granger lounging around here in the Slytherin corridor with no clear purpose. I thought you might be interested in finding out what she was up to." He looked at Snape the way a dog might look at its master after retrieving a stick.

"Did you," Snape sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. "And why should I be interested in how Professor Granger spends her nights?" He had kept his gaze fixed steadily on Hermione, and she found that she had to look away under the intensity of his scrutiny. She suddenly worried whether he had been doing Legilimency on her and shivered.

"I don't know," Filch shrugged uncertainly. "It just seemed..._suspicious_."

"Indeed." He narrowed his eyes, seeming to watch Hermione more closely. She shivered again and clenched her wand hard to try and get her cold muscles under control. "Tell me, Professor Granger. Have you been standing out here all night?"

"No." That was truthful enough. She wasn't about to tell him she'd been sleeping on the floor. How pathetic was she?

"No," he echoed. Then, seeming to come to a decision, he said, "Thank you, Filch. You have been most helpful."

_To one of us, anyway. I wonder what she told him..._

Filch glanced uneasily between Hermione and Snape. He had apparently been hoping that Snape would give Hermione a dressing-down in front of him, and he was disappointed. "Then, I'll...bid you a good night, Professors." He bobbed his head toward Snape and backed away down the hall, like a servant leaving the presence of royalty.

Hermione waited until Filch was gone, then said, "I wanted to talk to you."

"Clearly," Snape replied coldly. "You have obviously learned to manipulate people as well as words."

"I didn't manipulate any words!" Hermione insisted, leaving the part about manipulating people aside for the moment. "I know what you were--"

"Professor, I really do not want to stand here all night," Snape said curtly.

"No, I understand, but if I could just--" Hermione began, desperate to make him listen.

Snape withdrew from the doorway into the shadows of his room, and Hermione was debating whether to throw herself at the opening before it closed, when his silky voice said, "Aren't you going to come in?"

Snape stood back from the door to allow Hermione to enter. Her first impression was that the room smelled of leather and ancient parchment. Maybe something fermented, or acidic, as well. The only source of light was the low fire glowing in the grate, but by it she could see the rather Spartan furnishings: A large wooden table, empty, with a single chair standing askew at it, an armchair near the fire, bookcases and cabinets around the walls, brimming with books, parchments, folders, codices. Bare stone floor and walls. The floor, littered with papers and books scattered helter-skelter (What had happened here? Hermione wondered). A small window, currently covered with a dark red drape. A narrow wooden door in the far corner stood ajar and probably led to his bedchamber. Clearly, Snape did not entertain often. The air was warm enough, but Hermione could not help shivering again.

"Well, Professor," he said, closing the wall with the rather ominous sound of stone grating against stone. "I wonder why you are here. I wonder indeed. Could it be that you are interested in continuing our conversation from earlier?" His voice was dangerously low.

Hermione turned to face Snape. She couldn't read his expression, his face obscured both by flickering shadow and by the dark strands of hair hanging down into it. She swallowed. "Yes, that's exactly why I'm here."

"Yes," Snape hissed and walked past her, picking his way carefully among the debris, to stand by the fire with his back to her. He was silent for a moment, and Hermione was about to say something when his voice came again, "You have put yourself in a very dangerous situation, you realize." His words were slow, guarded. "You, a Mudblood, alone, in a room with a known Death Eater." He turned to face her, his hands behind his back, but now she could not see his face at all, as his back was to the fire. "The doors locked. Warded. No one would hear you. No Gryffindors to save you. No Johnson. No Lupin."

_He's trying to scare you. He's lashing out at you because he thinks you tried to hurt him. He wouldn't really hurt you..._ Hermione tried to convince herself. "There are no more Death Eaters," she said in as confident a voice as she could manage. "That organization has been destroyed."

"But its spirit lives on...in some."

"Severus, I know that you were, are, a loyal member of the Order of the Phoenix." She moved closer to the fire, avoiding stepping on the precious parchments, trying to get at an angle where she could see his expression, and stopped on the other side of the arm chair from him.

"That organization, too, has fallen by the way," Snape muttered bitterly.

"No, it hasn't!" Hermione countered fiercely. "Just because there's no threat right now, all of us would be ready to re-assemble in an instant, if needed!"

" 'All of us'," he sneered, and Hermione could see how his lip curled in disdain. "I do not recall you ever having been inducted into the Order."

After all she had done! Fighting side-by-side with them, helping Harry find the Horcruxes. If it hadn't been for her, she thought indignantly... But that was an argument for another time. "I would be a part of it now!" she cried. "And so would you!"

"You seem to know a great deal about the leanings of my heart. I do not think you have ever truly considered what it meant, what it means, to be a Death Eater. Or, perhaps you have. Perhaps that is why you thought it so important to expose my guilt to the student body tonight." His voice, until now low and controlled, was starting to increase in volume and intensity, and his black eyes glittered with the embers of that same anger she had experienced earlier.

"You're wrong!" Hermione cried, her hands balled into fists at her side. "I never wanted to expose anything! Whatever you read into it, is only your interpretation! Nobody else saw it that way! But to set the record straight, I don't hold you responsible for anything that Voldemort and his cronies did! I know you only did what you had to, that you didn't have any choice!" She was shouting at him now, desperate that he understand.

"Every moment is a choice!" he snapped, his voice rough. "What do you think I did, just stood by and watched, wringing my hands, like your poor Maggie?" He reached across the chair and grabbed Hermione's wrist. "Do you need a demonstration in order to make you understand?"

In a flash of movement, Hermione perceived that Snape had his wand in his other hand and was raising it. Instinctively, she raised her own wand and started to shout the Protection Charm, but before she could do so, a blast of force hit her like a giant fist directing a blow to her wand arm. Her wand flew out of her hand and she herself was thrown back and off-balance, causing her to sit down hard on the floor, skidding backwards on the papers.

"_Accio_ wand!" Snape commanded, and Hermione's wand flew to his outstretched hand.

She scrambled away over the cold stones, heedless now of ripping and crushing the books under her, seeking cover under the table, desperately trying to come up with a plan to get out, to get help. After a moment, however, she realized that he wasn't pursuing her. Everything was quiet. All she could hear was the sound of her own ragged breathing. What had he hit her with? She hadn't even heard an incantation. She peered out cautiously from under the table. Snape was leaning over the chair by the fire, his head bowed.

"You can come out, Professor," he said after a moment, and his voice sounded strangely flat. "I won't attack you." He tossed her wand onto the floor, and it clattered against the stones and rolled in her direction. She reached out and furtively grabbed it, then slowly emerged from under the table.

"Now get out," he muttered, not raising his head.

Hermione didn't move. It was slowly beginning to dawn on her what Remus had meant about Snape's feelings of culpability, about him having borne more than most. "I'm... sorry," she whispered. "I didn't really realize..."

"I don't need your pity," Snape cut her off bitterly.

"It's sympathy. And I can't help how I feel, it's just an emotion. I'm sorry if you don't like it. Not everyone is just trying to come up with ways to hurt you, you know."

Hermione waited a few seconds, but he did not respond.

"Severus...?"

He still didn't answer, but stood motionless by the chair. Hermione took a tentative step toward him, then another, until she was standing right beside him. She could hear him breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth, in a deliberate rhythm. His eyes were closed, clenched shut, his face a mask of pain.

_Don't, don't, don't, just go away, I can't bear to be the object of pity...sympathy...whatever she wants to call it...it won't change anything...I am reprehensible, craven._

Hermione reached out one hand and laid it, hesitantly, on Snape's shoulder. She felt him stiffen, but other than that, there was no reaction.

_Enough violence for one night. Just. Go._

She let her hand rest there for one, two, three, four, five seconds. Then let it slide off and turned to leave. She soon found her way blocked by a solid stone wall, however.

She cleared her throat. "Um...Severus? Wards?"

Snape turned, waved his wand and muttered something, and the wall swung open again.

On the threshhold, Hermione turned back once more and, sure she was pressing her luck, but unable to contain her inquisitiveness, asked, "Out of curiosity, what did you...do to me? I didn't hear the incantation."

There was no answer for a moment, but then he said, curtly, "_Expelliarmus_."

That was all? Just _Expelliarmus_? But it had been so powerful. Hermione replayed the scene in her head. She really could not recall him speaking the spell, which meant... "Non-verbal?"

Snape inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, and Hermione stepped back out into the cold corridor and headed for the stairs, her mind whirling with thoughts. Behind her, she heard the wall slide back into place.

AN: _The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king._ --William Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, ii, 633.


	9. Chapter 9 Remus Again

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_AN: In this chapter: no SS-HG interaction (sorry), because I need to set a couple of things up. Hope you enjoy anyway!_

**CHAPTER 9**

**Remus Again**

"You look like hell," Remus said cheerfully at breakfast the next morning.

"I feel like it," Hermione mumbled. Her eyes were sticky and dry, her mouth tasted like paste, she was slightly dizzy and her head was pounding slightly, and she felt grungy all over. In other words, she hadn't slept. Or showered. She had spent the remainder of the night lying in bed, trying to sleep while her brain whirred on overtime. She had finally dozed off about an hour before sunrise, which was late, it being nearly the winter solstice. She had just made it down in time to bolt a cup of coffee and a slice of toast before she needed to get to her first class. She didn't see Severus.

The owl post arrived with a flurry of wings about the Great Hall, four pairs of which headed for the Staff Table. A rolled parchment was dropped into Hermione's lap, and she saw Remus picking an identical one out of his scrambled eggs. Hermione pulled up the glasses she kept on a chain around her neck and shoved them onto her face, then blinked blearily at the parchment. It was an invitation to a joint reunion of the Order and the DA, to take place the first week of Winter Recess at The Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione looked over at Remus, who had also finished reading his. "Are you going to go?"

Remus cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. "Are you?"

Hermione frowned. "It seems a bit strange, with the founders of both the Order and the DA dead," she said. Dumbledore and Harry.

Remus nodded solemnly. "Along with so many others." Tonks. Sirius.

"So do you want to skip it?" she asked.

Remus considered. "I wouldn't mind seeing Arthur again."

"It _has_ been ages since I've seen Ron," Hermione admitted.

"And you were as much a founder of the DA as anyone," Remus pointed out.

"Oh, I just did a little organization, I could never have led it," Hermione quickly countered.

"I think you should go," Remus determined, stuffing the invitation into his pocket. "People might be disappointed if you didn't show up."

"I'll only go if you go," she said firmly.

Remus grinned. "It's a date!"

Hermione stood up to go. "Listen, Remus," she said, "there's something else I need to talk to you about. Can I come by tonight?"

"My door is always open," he said with a gracious smile.

"Thanks!" She managed to crack a smile for his sake.

As she passed down the Gryffindor side of the Great Hall, she saw Snape enter through the main doors. He looked as neat and rested as ever. Which meant that he either always went on very little or no sleep, or their meeting of the previous night hadn't fazed him a bit and he'd been able to drop off immediately after and sleep like a rock. Hermione found she would prefer it if the former were true. She watched him, hoping he would choose to walk up the side of the Great Hall that she was on, but of course he walked up the Slytherin side, keeping his eyes straight ahead. Again two possibilities. Either he hadn't seen her, or he was purposely avoiding her. The former again being Hermione's preference.

xOxOxOx

All night, Hermione had thought about what she had found out. First, the fact that Severus Snape had truly been a Death Eater, and not just posed as one. Of course, stupid of her not to think of it before, but Voldemort would have required proof of his followers' loyalty, meaning active participation in their activities. One could only beg off with a headache so many times.

What had the Death Eaters done that Severus would have been involved in? Hermione knew of the spectacular murders, of course. What other crimes had they been associated with? Explosions (the Muggles thought they were bombings). Widespread destruction (there had been that incident with the Giant). Disappearances (Ollivander's body had never been found).

Had he actually killed people? Muggles and Wizards? Somehow, she thought not; those were the highest-profile crimes, ones that were vigorously investigated and pursued both by Muggle law-enforcement and Ministry of Magic officials. As a spy, Severus would have been too valuable to Voldemort to risk blowing his cover, to say nothing of losing him to Azkaban, to assign such a mission to.

And perhaps Severus had had other uses for the Dark Lord; certainly he would have put his potion-making skills to good (or rather Dark) use. And what about his skills as a Legilimens? Maybe he had worked as an interrogator, plying prisoners with Veritaserum and mind probes. He was also a gifted spell researcher, having either re-discovered or come up with on his own _Sectumsempra_, _Levicorpus_, and _Muffliato_. Perhaps there were other spells which he had developed for the Death Eaters' cause.

The possibilities were both endless and disturbing. How far had he gone to keep himself in Voldemort's good graces? How much had been just playing a role, and how much had he done out of conviction? Had he, as Angelina believed, been playing both sides to save his own neck? Did it make a difference in the end?

Then there was the issue of the incredible power she had felt on the receiving end of his spell. Of course he would be capable of non-verbal magic, but such magical expressions were generally weaker than those initiated vocally, and he had still managed to knock her halfway across the room. It had taken the combined power of hers, Ron's, and Harry's _Expelliarmus_ together to have a similar effect on Snape in the Shrieking Shack nearly a decade earlier. Of course, they had been young then, their powers not fully developed, and he was an adult Wizard in his prime. Still, she had been subject to _Expelliarmus_ before, and none of them had whomped her so thoroughly as his had last night.

With power like that, why was he teaching Potions to a bunch of snotty half-wits (as she recalled him referring to her and her fellow students)? During both of Voldemort's reigns of terror, Snape had used the teaching position both as a cover and as a way of being close to the Order, pass them information without arousing suspicions. And in between, when everyone had thought that Voldemort was dead, Snape had relied on Dumbledore's protection to keep him out of Azkaban. But now, with Voldemort well and truly gone, Snape's loyalty tried and proven before the Wizengamot, and Dumbledore deceased as well, what was keeping him at Hogwarts? Slytherins were supposed to be ambitious, drawn to positions of power and influence; even a relatively lazy man like Horace Slughorn had found a way to make himself important with a minimum of effort and risk. Severus Snape certainly had much greater faculties than most of the Slytherins Hermione had known, yet, since the Death Eaters had been disbanded, he did not choose to put them to use.

These were the questions that had made sleep so elusive for Professor Granger. Those, and...something else. Something that she wasn't sure what to make of. For she was starting to find Severus Snape...interesting.

xOxOxOx

Hermione hadn't seen Severus at lunch or dinner, either, and was already afraid that Minerva had fired him. Upon being questioned, however, the Headmistress had assured her that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would not have to recruit for a new Potions Master midyear, although she would not divulge just what had transpired during "the chat".

Hermione decided not to go and seek him out this time, even if she did know now where his room was. It wasn't just that she wanted to respect his space, it was also that she didn't know how she should approach him now. Should she just pretend that nothing had happened? That seemed to be the best bet, especially as she didn't want to divulge to anyone what had occurred in Severus's quarters. Which was strange. Why wasn't she angry that he had knocked her down? If he had done the same thing to Angelina, Hermione had no doubt that Severus would be answering charges faster than you could say _Wronski Feint_. But somehow, what had happened in Severus's quarters seemed...personal. Intimate. Something between her and Severus. It was like he had entrusted her with a confidence, and was testing her to see whether she would break it. She didn't want to disappoint him.

Once she was finished with her grading, she went round to Remus's quarters just off the Gryffindor Common Room. When she got there, a Third Year girl was already there, getting permission to stay at the castle over the Recess; her parents were going skiing in Davos and didn't want to take the girl along. Remus approved the request, but it was clear he did it with mixed emotions: sympathy for the girl and disapproval of the parents. The girl was relieved, however, and quickly slipped past Hermione and back into the Common Room with a smile on her face.

Remus sighed and looked at Hermione with a sad smile. "Some parents just don't appreciate what they have."

Hermione closed the door behind her and smiled back, but cheekily. "My parents also used to go skiing every Winter Recess. I hated it! I was glad to be able to stay here!" She went over and flopped herself down on the couch.

Remus got up from his desk and stretched. "Tea?"

"Only if it'll put me to sleep. I'm dead tired." She halfheartedly stifled a yawn.

"That business with Severus keep you up last night?" Remus asked conversationally as he got the tea ready.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. How could he know? But no... "You mean the play and everything?" she said, trying to stay calm. "Yeah, I kept thinking about it." That much was true.

"It was rather upsetting. _Aguacalora_." A stream of steaming water spewed out of his wand into a waiting teapot. "I'm just glad he didn't really hurt you."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually."

"Severus?"

"Mm-hm." Hermione watched Remus assembling cups, tea leaves, utensils. From the back, he moved like a much older man, stiff and with extra caution in every movement. His light brown hair was thin, but getting long and scruffy in the back. When he turned so that she saw his face in a quarter-profile, she noticed the silvery strands over his ears.

"Do you know what he did when he was with the Death Eaters?" She tried to keep her voice light, displaying interest but not the dark suspicions behind her query.

"He was a spy, fed them information." Remus brought a tray over with the teapot, cups, and sugar bowl, and set it on the table before the couch, then lowered himself stiffly onto the cushions. The full moon had been five days ago, but he still hadn't recovered fully from his transformation. It was getting harder as he got older.

Hermione slid back into the opposite corner of the couch and leaned back, making herself comfortable. "No, I mean what did he actually participate in. Their activities. He can't just have stood around watching them, can he? Voldemort must have demanded that he participate, at least in some things. To prove his loyalty."

"I really couldn't tell you. Severus never talked about that, at least not in my presence. He would inform the Order whenever he could if an attack was being planned. Sometimes he had no warning, and there was nothing that could be done. I think that was hard for him." He handed Hermione a cup.

"Thanks." Hermione balanced the scalding hot cup on the arm of the couch, steadying it with her thumb and forefinger on the handle.

"I would suppose that's why he saw himself in the character of Maggie," Remus went on, putting sugar into his own cup and then leaning back in his own corner. "She, too, was unable to help, even though she would have been in a position to do so."

"Mm-hm," Hermione agreed vaguely. She knew that that wasn't what was at the heart of Severus's crisis: it wasn't the fact that he had been forced not to help; it was that he had been forced to participate. Or perhaps not forced. "Do you think he ever killed anyone?" she asked suddenly.

Remus became still. "Do you mean apart from Albus?" he finally asked, staring into his teacup.

A coldness gripped Hermione's chest. Of course! Of course, of course, of course! Stupid of her not to have realized it before! Severus had been upset because he had had to kill Dumbledore for the Death Eaters. That's what he had been trying to tell her. But-- That would mean that he really had killed Dumbledore, despite the charges having been dropped. Dear gods in the heavens.

"Remus--" Hermione began, her throat constricted. "Do you-- Did he really kill Albus? I thought the Wizengamot had cleared him."

"From what I heard, he got off on a technicality. Mind you, I wasn't there, not that night on top of the Astronomy Tower, and not at the trial. But I think the consensus was that, while he was not at fault for Albus's death, he was the immediate cause of it."

"But what does that mean? Was he under _Imperius_?" Hermione would have found that hard to believe, a wizard with as powerful a mind as Severus had. Or was it an accident? But that wouldn't fit with what Harry had told them; he had clearly heard the Avada Kedavra, had clearly seen the green bolt striking the Headmaster.

"I don't believe so. At least, I never heard anything like that." He sighed. "Truthfully, Hermione, it wasn't something that we discussed in much detail. Before the trial, while Severus was being held in Azkaban, only Kingsley, as an Auror, was able to visit him; he did more than anyone to help prepare Severus's defense, although I gather that Severus himself was less than cooperative, so Kingsley didn't have much information to work with. I think he got more out of the surviving Death Eaters who had also been eye-witnesses than he did out of Severus. You might want to ask Minerva or Arthur, someone who actually attended the trial. Perhaps they can tell you more."

Hermione nodded, deep in thought. She would ask them.

"Now, enough about Severus," Remus said in a business-like manner. He leaned forward to put his half-empty cup down on the tray, then reached out an arm to Hermione. "Come here and tell me something more cheerful. Like what you and the boys used to get up to when you were rambling around this old castle while your parents went skiing."

Hermione settled back against Remus's chest, her hands clasping her cup, which was now pleasantly warm. "Well, I spent most of my time in the library, of course."

"Of course," Remus chuckled, giving her a squeeze around the shoulders. "The insatiable bookworm."

"It was a good thing I was!" Hermione exclaimed. "Otherwise we never would have figured out the basilisk, or-- or about the fact that Severus was the Half-Blood Prince." It seemed that Severus would always spring to her mind first.

"No," Remus said, and his voice seemed a tad less warm than it had been a few seconds earlier. "No, that's right, I don't suppose you would have," he agreed. "But you always were the clever one," he went on, regaining his cheer. "I don't know what Harry would have done without you."

Hermione fell silent and stared at the dregs of tea in the bottom of her cup.

Remus quickly clarified, "I mean of course all of your research, finding out what the Horcruxes were and directing him where to look."

"I know what you mean," Hermione said quietly.

"He would never have defeated You-Know-Who without your invaluable aid." He squeezed her shoulders again, more firmly.

Hermione felt her throat tightening. Strange. She hadn't gotten emotional about it in a long time.

"Hermione, it wasn't your fault," he whispered, and kissed the back of her head, then leaned his head against hers.

An uncomfortable feeling overcame Hermione. Danger signs. She: emotionally distraught. He: hugging and kissing her to comfort her. They: snuggled up on the couch in front of the fire. For all that the two of them had become comfortable around each other, Remus had _never_ kissed her. Not even the back of her head. Oh dear.

Hermione leaned forward, under cover of putting her cup on the table. She made sure she had control of her voice, then said as casually as she could, "Well I'm done in. I'd best be off to bed, or the students will have to teach themselves tomorrow."

Remus cleared his throat, then said rather more loudly than necessary, "Right."

Hermione stood and smoothed her robes and her hair, then turned to Remus. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Remus. And for the information. I will talk to Minerva or Arthur."

Remus stood, too, and ran his hand over his own head. "Yes, do. I think they'll be able to help you more than I. Although, Hermione," he said, looking at her with a melancholy frown, "I'm not sure what your purpose is in dragging up all of this again now. It won't change anything."

"You know me, Remus," she said, putting on a cheery face, "insatiable bookworm, I just have to keep digging until I get the answer."

He escorted her to his door. "I do hope you find what you're looking for."

xOxOxOx

Hermione hurried to her room, fearing already that sleep tonight would be as elusive as it had been the previous evening.

_AN: Now, don't get all upset or anything. It's all part of a grand master plan. There'll be grapes later, I swear. 'Grupins' or 'Langers' just don't have the right ring to them, do they?_


	10. Chapter 10 The Reunion

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

**CHAPTER 10**

**The Reunion**

_AN: Featuring: Ron, magic, grapes, angst. In that order._

Hermione stood before her mirror, inspecting her appearance. If there was one good thing to say about witches' robes, it was that they hid figure flaws. Hermione had gone through a period in adolescence when she had been sensitive about her looks, especially her face and hair, but she'd never really been bothered about her body. It had all the right parts and had served her well thus far. She wasn't ashamed of it, but on the other hand nor did she particularly feel like flaunting it. The (few) boys she had dated had certainly been more interested in it than she was. Viktor had been very proper, never too forward, but he had clearly been highly attentive to her, and taken every opportunity to touch and kiss her, without ever becoming appropriate. Then had come McLaggen in her Sixth Year; not that she had actually dated him, but he had very obviously been interested in her, and not for her intellect. She had soon put a stop to him, but it had been in a certain way flattering to know that someone might be attracted to her looks alone.

And then there had been Ron. Her best friend. Her first lover. They had been all wrong for each other; that was clear to her now, and had in fact been clear to her then, but they had both been desperate to find some reason to live, both fleeing the death they had witnessed. Both seeking reminders of Harry in the other. They had both used each other's bodies then, and again, hers had served well, but she couldn't say that there had been any further spark, any greater attraction. When they had used up their grief, they had both woken up one morning, looked each other in the eye, and known that that phase of their relationship was over. There had been no reproaches, no awkwardness. Just a moving on.

Afterwards, during her studies, she had carried on a rather torrid on-again-off-again affair with a junior lecturer. He had been married, it had eventually gotten ugly, and Hermione had just managed to get away with her academic reputation intact.

Since then, there had been nobody, but for all her lack of experience, Hermione did think she knew how to read the signs, and unfortunately, Remus Lupin was showing several of them. She hated to hurt him, but she just wasn't interested in him that way. He was a great friend. She had him in the same category as Ron, only much older and without the sexual history. She just hoped that he would never really try anything, because then she would be forced to be blunt.

Which was why she was agonizing over her appearance just now. Tonight was the reunion at The Leaky Cauldron, and she wanted to look good. Just not too good. She wanted to represent the DA properly, wanted to show that her association with these fine people meant something to her, which meant she didn't want to look like she was just dropping in after a round of shopping. On the other hand, she was fearful that if she went too dolled up, Remus might think she was trying to impress him.

She was currently wearing a deep red robe over a form-fitting (but not tight) bodice and demure neckline, with long flared sleeves, and loose skirts. Sensible black boots underneath (there was snow on the ground), and her hair twisted up in a simple chignon. No make-up, no jewelry. She felt plain enough, yet elegant enough.

She, Remus, Hagrid, Minerva, and Filius had agreed to meet at 7 pm in the Great Hall, to walk to the Apparition point together. She had heard Minerva informing Severus of their plans that morning at breakfast, if he cared to join them, and he had muttered something in return that hadn't exactly sounded like a refusal, so Hermione had hopes that he would be coming, too. He just had to, she thought stubbornly. If only because it would lessen the chance that the others would make derogatory comments about him behind his back. She thrust her wand into the hip pocket of her robe, grabbed her cloak, and went downstairs.

Remus and Filius were already there. Both looked at her appreciatively when she arrived. "You look lovely," Remus said, and it looked as though he wanted to say more, but stopped. He was wearing his best suit, a gray tweed, under a dark gray cloak.

"Yes, indeed," Filius agreed. "Ravishing."

Hermione felt her face getting hot. "Thank you," she said, avoiding looking directly at either of them. Not plain enough, obviously!

Minerva arrived shortly thereafter, in an intricately embroidered dark green and purple robe over a matching high-necked dress, with her customary pointed hat. Hermione had never taken to the hats, although she would wear them on formal ceremonial occasions.

"Good evening," the Headmistress said. "Are we all ready then? We can stop by Hagrid's cabin and pick him up on the way."

Everyone started for the front doors, Remus holding out his arm to Hermione to escort her.

"Wait, what about Severus?" Hermione said, disliking once again having to be the one to stick up for him.

"Oh, he most likely won't be joining us," Minerva said. "He avoids these social obligations whenever possible."

"But that's not right," Hermione insisted, standing her ground. "He's just as much a member of the Order as any of you are. He played an important role in defeating Voldemort. He should be coming along."

"Once again, I agree with you, Hermione," Minerva said patiently, "but once again, Severus has the right to live his own life. And this time, he is not committing any crime by sitting in his room and sulking."

Hermione looked at the other three professors. They all obviously felt the same way. They didn't care about Severus coming along; in fact, they were probably relieved that they wouldn't have to put up with his dour presence that night.

"I'm going down to get him," Hermione determined stubbornly.

Minerva pressed her lips together and glanced at Remus. "Hermione, I think you should let it be."

"I'm sorry, but I can't," she said. "You don't have to wait for me; I'll come along later."

"It wouldn't be fair to you or the others if you missed the reunion, Hermione. I'm sure there are people there who are looking forward to seeing you," Remus reminded her.

"I won't miss the reunion, I promise. I'm just going to go down and make sure Severus knows that _someone_ at least _wants_ him to be there."

"I'll come with you, then," Remus said firmly, and this time, Hermione knew there was no putting him off.

"Fine," Hermione agreed. "You two go on, get Hagrid, we'll catch up with you. If not at the Apparition point, then in Diagon Alley."

Minerva and Filius set out through the great doors, and Remus and Hermione headed down to the dungeons. The corridors were empty; there were a few students staying in the castle over the holidays, but they mainly stayed in their Common Rooms or the library in the evenings. At the ashwinder, Hermione reached up and pushed on the scarlet egg as she had seen Filch do. "Severus?" she called. "We're all ready to go."

They waited a moment, Hermione getting ever more impatient. Remus shrugged. "He probably doesn't want to go."

"But _I_ want him to go," Hermione growled, and pushed on the egg again. "Severus! It's Hermione! I'm not leaving until you come out!" She crossed her arms and scowled.

"I thought you said you weren't going to wait around all night," Remus reminded her.

"You don't have to wait if you don't want to," Hermione hissed.

Fortunately, Remus was spared having to take a stand, as the wall swung inward at that point.

"Professor Granger," Snape began, in what might be termed a polite tone, before he saw that Remus was there, too. "And Remus," he finished with a sneer.

_So she's brought a protector with her this time. How quaint. _

"Severus," Hermione smiled. "Are you ready?"

"I shall not be attending this evening's gathering," he informed her stiffly.

"Of course you will," Hermione contradicted him.

"Have you suddenly developed clairvoyant abilities of which I am unaware?"

Remus sniggered.

Hermione was about to get indignant at Snape's sniping, but then realized that it was rather funny. A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. "Yes, I have," she retorted, tossing her head haughtily. "I have quite clearly seen you sitting in The Leaky Cauldron having a firewhiskey and laughing at one of Hagrid's jokes."

"Then you must also have seen all nine hells frozen over," he responded drily. "Because I neither drink alcohol, nor have I ever found Rubeus Hagrid entertaining in the slightest."

"Then maybe it's time you did one or the other," Hermione suggested, meeting his gaze and holding it. It took a great deal of will-power to do this, as his dark eyes were boring into hers with such intensity that she was all but certain he was attempting to work legilimency on her.

"Ahem," Remus cleared his throat, reminding the other two of his presence. "If I might." He glanced at Hermione, as if seeking her approval. She stepped aside. "Severus, Hermione here seems to set great store by you attending this gathering tonight. And, if I must say so, I also would find it only fitting that you be there as well, given all that you have contributed to the cause. So, without further ado, if you would be so kind as to grab your cloak, we can be off." He inclined his head to Snape in a deferential little bow.

Snape glared at Remus for a moment, then made an annoyed sound deep in his throat and disappeared for a moment, leaving the wall open. When he reappeared a matter of seconds later, he was ensconced in a heavy black cape. He breezed past the two Gryffindor professors and muttered, "Let's get this damn thing over with, then."

Hermione and Remus looked at each other, Hermione giving Remus a delighted smile and taking his proferred arm. Together, they mounted the stairs, trailing after the Potion Master.

Outside, the night was clear and cold, the sky black and sparkling, the snow white and crisp. Severus marched ahead of the other two, although not so fast that they couldn't keep up.

"Thank you, Remus," Hermione whispered happily, hugging his arm. "I don't know that I could have convinced him to come along," she confided in him, recalling how all of her previous attempts at persuading Snape had turned out.

"I wasn't sure that he would be swayed by my arguments, either, but I'm glad it turned out the way you wanted. Without having to resort to other means of persuasion!" he grinned.

"What do you mean?"

Remus leaned over to speak in Hermione's ear. "Oh, just that if he hadn't agreed to come along willingly, I would have immobilized him and levitated him all the way there."

"You wouldn't!"

"No," Remus laughed, "you're right, I wouldn't. But it is fun to think about!"

_Whatever possessed me to agree to this! I can hear them back there twittering and chortling like a couple of schoolchildren. I have no doubt that I am the butt of their little joke. I had thought for a moment that Granger... But look at how she dressed for him! Disgusting how they must fawn over each other!_

As soon as Snape arrived at the Apparition point, he cracked out of sight without waiting for Remus and Hermione. Hermione let go of Remus's arm and went next, arriving at the head of Diagon Alley. A second later, Remus appeared beside her. It was still cold enough to see their breath, but there was no snow here; it must either have melted away or been trampled by the crowds. The lane was full of evening shoppers, couples heading for rendez-vous, and witches and wizards heading home from work. Snape had been swallowed up by the masses, if in fact he had even arrived.

"Do you think he skipped out on us?" Hermione asked, looking around, slightly worried.

"I don't know," Remus shrugged. "If so, we have no way of tracking him down now, if that's what you're thinking."

In fact, the thought had crossed Hermione's mind, but she immediately saw the futility in it, so she agreed that they should proceed to The Leaky Cauldron. When they got there, even from outside, they could hear a roar of laughter and the unmistakable boom of Hagrid's voice.

Inside, it was twice as loud, and became louder when Remus and Hermione's presence was noted by the group gathered around the great table running the length of the room.

"Hermione!" Hagrid cried, and his greeting was echoed a dozen times over. Minerva was seated next to him, and Filius beside her. There were Kingsley Shacklebolt, with a little more padding about the midriff than Hermione had remembered; Dedalus Diggle, hatless; Mad-Eye Moody, his magical blue eye spinning erratically; Hestia Jones, looking a bit overwhelmed; Sturgis Podmore, already with several empty Butterbeer bottles on the table before him. And then a lineup of redheads: Molly; Arthur; Bill, his disfigured face stretched in a broad grin; Ginny, who had matured into a stunning young woman; and Ron.

As soon as he set eyes on Hermione, Ron got up and climbed over the table, causing Sturgis to yelp as several of his Butterbeer bottles toppled into his lap.

"Hermione," Ron said gruffly when he was finally standing before her, and threw his arms fiercely around her. The familiar Ron smell filled her nostrils, and she got all choked up. She hugged him back, tightly, and the din around them disappeared for a glorious moment; it was just the two of them, clinging to each other for security and warmth and love. There was still love. There would always be. Then they pulled apart and Ron kissed her on the cheek. "I'm glad you made it," he said, then looked her over head to foot. "You look scrumptious!" he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Thanks," she said, slightly embarrassed, giving him a final affectionate squeeze before relinquishing her hold.

"Well come on and sit down," Ron said to her and Lupin, leading them around to the other side of the table. "Budge over there, Ginny."

Hermione greeted everyone as she went around the table, shaking hands here and kissing cheeks there. Luna and Neville, Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom, had been hidden on the other side of Hagrid, but she was no less pleased to see them than she had been to see Ron. She and Ron had been best man and maid of honour at their wedding, and she was glad that they, at least, had found their way to each other and been able to build a life together.

Remus took a seat on the long bench beside Arthur, leaving room next to him for Hermione to sit next to Ron. Just as she was about to swing her leg over the wooden plank, she caught sight of a black figure standing in the corner. It was Severus, and he was watching her with a scowl on his face.

"Look," she said, nudging Remus. "He did come."

Remus looked in the direction she indicated. "So so," he nodded. "Seems to be a bit of a wall flower, though. Shall I--?"

"No, I'll do it," Hermione said grimly. Honestly, it was like pulling teeth. And she should know, as the daughter of two dentists.

"What's up with that?" Ron asked Remus, seeing Hermione on her way over to Snape.

Remus sighed. "It seems that Hermione has taken it upon herself to see to it that Severus is fully integrated into society life."

"Huh?"

"She's got her mind set on making friends with him," Remus clarified.

"Friends? With Snape?" Ron was obviously having a difficult time correlating those two terms with each other. "I didn't think 'friends' was a word that was even in Snape's vocabulary."

Remus shrugged. "You know Hermione. When she gets her teeth into a project..."

"Yeah, I'll say," Ron grinned. "She's like a bulldog."

"Yes," Remus agreed. "Only...I can't help being...well, wary of the outcome."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Ron, that's just the old man in me talking," Remus shrugged apologetically. "Just wishing and wondering."

"You're losing me."

"Never mind. Say, what does a fellow have to do to get a Butterbeer around here?"

xOxOxOx

_It was a mistake for me to come. Look at them all, carousing and laughing. Have they forgotten the events that brought them all together in the first place? Is this their way of commemorating murder? _

"Severus." Hermione had planted herself before him, her fists on her hips.

"Professor."

"You've made it this far. Is it too much trouble to take the last few steps to the table?"

"Aside from the fact that this is not my idea of an appropriate commemoration of the war which brought us all together, there do not seem to be any vacant seats. I am content to view the proceedings from here."

_I'll bet you are_, Hermione thought to herself. _So you can make a getaway when you think no one's looking_. "We're here to celebrate life, Severus, not death!" she said aloud. "Although if you want to, you could probably make an appropriately gloomy toast at some point. Come on, I'll _Extendo_ the bench if we need to," she promised, in blatant disregard of the hand-lettered sign on the wall which read _'No _Extendo_ing the furniture! -- Mgmt.'_ She grabbed his hand and towed him back to the table.

He briefly attempted to pull his hand away, but that only caused her to grip his more firmly, not even letting go when they were standing beside the table. He found it embarrassing to be pulled along like a recalcitrant child, but took pleasure in noting the look in Remus's eye when the werewolf saw how Hermione was holding on to Snape.

_Jealous, Moony? Yes, look at how I am touching your lover. Revel in the knowledge of my corrupted flesh caressing her soft white skin._

Remus glanced up at Snape's face just at that moment and saw a look of taunting scorn. Startled and confused, Remus quickly looked away.

_Not even going to fight for her, Moony? How terribly dull._

Hermione, meanwhile, had gotten Arthur to move around to the other side of the table next to Molly and Bill, leaving a space free at the end of the bench. She slid in next to Ron and scooted over as far as she could, pulling Severus down next to her. As he was now on the edge of the bench, he had no choice but to sit pressed against her, leg to leg and shoulder to shoulder. He hoped Remus was taking note of that fact.

"Nice of you to join us, Severus," Arthur said amiably, holding out his hand.

"Arthur," Severus said, reaching across the table to shake the other wizard's hand.

Molly and Bill also offered their greetings.

Remus, now sitting on the far side of Ron, leaned forward to look around him and Hermione. "We thought you'd given us the slip, Severus."

"It wouldn't have been hard," Snape stated, staring straight ahead.

"Nice to see you again, Professor," Ron said. "How're things at Hogwarts?"

"Tedious to the point of insanity."

"Ah, so nothing's changed, eh?" Ron said with a grin.

Not a muscle in Snape's face moved. "No."

Bill laughed heartily. "Do you know, I don't think I ever appreciated your sense of humour when I was a student, Snape. It's wicked, though!"

Snape fixed Bill with a withering look. "If I had known I would be surrounded by werewolves, I would have chosen other seating arrangements," he said coldly.

"Really, Severus," Molly scolded indignantly.

Bill's scarred countenance hardened."That can be arranged, Snape."

"He's not even a real werewolf," Ron retorted. "He's just a carrier."

"How pleasant for him," Snape sneered, still keeping his eyes fixed on Bill.

"Who invited him, anyway," Hermione could hear Ginny muttering from farther down the table.

_Not going well, not going well at all_, Hermione fretted. "Severus!" she exclaimed. "You don't even have a drink yet! Butterbeer?" She grabbed the nearest bottle and held it out to him.

"Oi! That's mine!" Ron protested.

"Never fear, Weasley," Snape said scornfully, "I wouldn't touch that sickly stuff even if you hadn't slobbered all over it already."

Hermione plastered a grin onto her face and made to stand up. "Well, I'm going to get myself a mulled cider. Anyone else?" She looked around brightly, but everyone on their end of the table was scowling and avoiding looking at each other. "That'll be a no, then," she said in an unnaturally high voice.

"Wait, Hermione, I'll get it for you," Remus offered, clambering out from where he was squeezed between Ron and Ginny. "Severus? Can I get something for you while I'm up?" he offered.

"I will conjure my own beverage," Snape answered, again in blatant disregard of another sign which read _'No self-conjured food or drinks! Violators will be hexed! -- Mgmt.'_

Hermione sat back down, squeezing her hips in between Snape and Ron again. She noticed that Ron moved over a bit to make room, but Severus remained firmly where he was. Of course, if he moved over, he'd fall right off the bench. She could feel both of their thighs against hers. Ron's was relaxed and heavy, and Hermione could tell that he had put on some muscle in the last couple of years. She recalled the rough feeling of the reddish hairs there under her fingers, and wondered whether he had another girlfriend. On the other side, she felt Snape's leg, long and taut, and wondered what it felt like. This thought was accompanied by a familiar butterfly feeling in her stomach. She instantly shoved her thoughts in another direction, as she had several times over the past week. This was Snape, for goodness' sake! Taking an interest in him was one thing, but getting excited by thoughts of him was quite another.

In the meantime, Snape had produced his wand and conjured himself a cup of tea, under the dirty looks of Molly, Bill, and Ron. Hermione couldn't see Ginny, but she felt certain that she was also shooting Snape a similar look, and possibly considering whether to enact a form of vigilante justice and hex Snape on behalf of the proprietors.

"So, Bill," Hermione said cheerfully, in an attempt to steer the focus away from the man on her left, "how's Fleur?"

"Fine," he grumbled, still put out by Snape's presence.

"Yes, she's expecting their second child in May," Molly added proudly. "Jack just turned two, he's the cleverest little thing you ever saw, talks up a storm...Not that any of it's English," she added, frowning.

"It's Jacques, Mom," Bill sighed, giving the name a proper French pronunciation. "And you know we thought it was important for him to grow up bilingual."

"Bilingual, yes, but so far it's 'non' this and 'je veux' that, and he doesn't even say Grandma!" she complained to Hermione. "Calls me Grand-mère. Grand-mère! I ask you, do I look like a Grand-mère? Makes me sound like a horse!" she finished huffily.

"Better than Grand-père," Arthur teased. "I always feel like a fruit bowl." He winked at Hermione.

Hermione laughed, and by the time Remus returned with their drinks, everyone was chatting pleasantly again, Snape all but forgotten in the corner. By all but Hermione. She was very much aware of his body next to hers, of every move he made. She spent most of the evening talking to Ron, but there was always a part of her brain that was keeping track of Severus, how he sometimes shifted his weight so that he was pressing against her gently, then away again, how he would lean forward against the table, causing his leg to rub ever so slightly against hers, how he moved his foot once and ended up with his calf resting against hers, but rather than moving it away again immediately, let it rest there for a minute or so before slowly repositioning it.

She found herself mesmerized by this strange, slow, silent dance and after a while began to participate in it, trying to figure out the rules. When Ron said something funny, she leaned toward him and laughed, then, when returning her body to its former position, purposely leaned a little farther back until she was putting gentle pressure on Severus. When she reached across the table to take the snapshots of Jacques from Molly, she made sure that her arm brushed against Severus's. And when his calf ended up against hers, she didn't move away. And was disappointed when he did.

After a while, generous servings of alcohol moved some of the gathered company to stronger emotions, and toasts began to be offered. Mad-Eye started off with a furtive, "May we all be alive this time next year," then hunched back down over the flask he'd been nursing all evening, as if afraid that someone would try to spike it. Sturgis Podmore followed up with, "Here's to you and here's to me; may we never disagree. But if we do, then fuck you. And here's to me." Upon which he belched loudly and fell off the bench to a scattered round of applause. Minerva stood up and recited clearly,

_"Weel may we a' be, ill may we ne'er see;  
Here's to the Queen and the gude companie.  
Here's a health to them that's away,_

_Here's a health to them that were here shortsyne,  
An, canna be here today."_

There was a general murmur of assent as she re-took her seat. Next to her was Hagrid, who was already blubbering into his mauve handkerchief. He hastily blew his nose, then pushed the bench back, nearly toppling everyone off, and stood up. His head bumped against the ring chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but he didn't even bother swatting it away, just let it rest on the side of his head like a lopsided crown.

"I'd jus' like ter say," he began, surveying his audience with swollen red eyes, "what an honour it was fer me ter serve th' Order with all of yeh fine wizards an' witches. An' the finest one of all was Dumbledore." He shook his huge shaggy head and cleared his throat with a great hacking cough. "Without him, none of us'd be here today. An' now here we all are, an'-- an' he's dead!"

Hermione glanced at the table where Hagrid had been sitting and noted that it was littered with a good dozen empty tankards of mulled mead. Hagrid on a bender. Not conducive to the general peace.

Hagrid raised his head and looked around the room with a wild glint in his eye. "An' we all know why he ain't here! He would of still bin here if it weren't fer him," Hagrid shouted, pointing at Snape.

"Hagrid," Minerva said gently but no less urgently, placing a hand on his massive arm, "Albus's work was all but done. The prophecy said that Harry had to be the one to defeat You-Know-Who."

"Mebbe so, but Harry wouldn't of died if'n Dumbledore'd been there ter back 'im up!"

"We don't know that, Hagrid," Minerva said.

"Yeh killed 'im!" he roared, jabbing a thick, stubby finger violently in Snape's direction. "Yeh killed 'im in cold blood! An' yeh've got Harry on yer conscience as well, if yeh've got one of those, which I doubt!"

All eyes turned to Snape. Hermione had felt him stiffen beside her upon Hagrid's first singling him out.

He slowly stood, drawing himself to his full and not unimpressive height. His jaw clenched, he hissed, "Albus Dumbledore was a fool."

"You take that back!" Hagrid roared. Bill and Ron half stood up, too, but they were pulled back down by Molly and Hermione, respectively.

"Look at what he brought together," Snape spat out, sneering at the company. "The cream of the wizarding world," he said derisively. "A bunch of half-witted, drunken, self-congratulatory bumblers whose only claim to fame is that they defeated an even more pathetic bunch of bumblers, more by happenstance than by any real skill on their part. I came here out of respect for that old fool, which was pure irrational sentimentality on my part, but now I am sure you will all be relieved to know that I disassociate myself from you completely and forevermore!"

And with an ear-splitting _crack_, he was gone. There was a short, stunned silence. Then before anyone else could say anything, Hermione stood up, too, her face ashen white, and addressed everyone. "We all made mistakes," she said, her voice strained. "We all tried to do what we thought was right. I'm sorry." Then she looked directly at Hagrid. "_I_ was supposed to be covering Harry," she whispered hoarsely, before she, too, Disapparated.

xOxOxOx

It was below freezing when she re-Apparated outside of Hogwarts. The air was hard and stung her nose. She didn't see Severus, but she thought she could make out a trail of footprints in the snow heading towards Hogwarts. She ran as fast as she could, but her lungs refused to allow the frigid air entry, so that she was soon gasping for breath. She slowed down and held her arm up over her mouth, breathing into her elbow, to try and get warmer air into her body. Up ahead, then, a black shadow moving over the white snow, she saw Severus. She would never catch up to him! He would be down in his chambers, safe behind his walls, before she could reach him. She ran a few more meters, then took out her wand, aimed at a spot just ahead of him, and shouted, "_Munio Vigoris_!"

Instantly, a blue beam jumped out of her wand and flew to the point she had intended (she always had had very good aim), where it seemed to unfold itself left and right, extending several meters in both directions and forming a glowing blue wall between Severus and the castle.

He instantly dropped to the ground and rolled to the side, and Hermione knew even though she couldn't see that he would have his wand out, expecting an attack, but she didn't care. Heedless, she ran as quickly as she could toward him, calling out, "Severus, wait!" She knew she didn't have more than about a minute before he either made it around the barrier, or the magic expired.

"It's me!" she cried, now close enough to see by the electric blue glow the fifteen inch ebony stick trained on her. She half expected him to _Expelliarmus_ her again, but instead he lay there in the snow, watching her from behind half a curtain of black hair, and she stopped three meters away, panting heavily.

"I wanted-- They were wrong," she gasped, shaking her head. "Harry-- It's not your fault." She dropped to her knees and put her hands on her thighs, leaning forward to get blood and oxygen to her head. She could feel her face throbbing with each heartbeat. The snow soaked through her skirt, making her knees cold and wet.

Severus sat up and crouched where he was, watching Hermione guardedly.

She lifted her head enough to look at him, and she saw that he was frowning. What was it? Anger? Concern? Before she could study his expression further, the magical wall suddenly flickered out, and they were left in momentary darkness while their eyes adjusted to the ambient light once again. While they waited, Hermione's breathing slowed, and she was able to stand again. She perceived that Snape did as well.

"That was a spectacularly poor idea, for me to attend this evening," he snarled finally, breaking the silence.

That hit its mark. Once again, she had inadvertently caused him acute embarrassment. But something else had happened as well, it occurred to her. She gathered up her courage and said in a low voice, "I actually thought it was going very well." Her heart rate increased again, but this time it had nothing to do with physical exertion.

Snape seemed taken aback by this statement; at least, his response came only after a moment's hesitation. "Ah yes, now I understand," he spat out bitterly. "Do you know, I actually believed that you were sincere in your misguided Gryffindor attempts at magnanimity, but that wasn't it at all, was it?" He advanced on her, his wand still drawn. "You dragged me along tonight knowing that it was unavoidable that someone would take me to task!" He was now within an arm's length of her, and he looked very put out.

"No!" Hermione said urgently, and she reached out and grabbed his elevated wand hand, enveloping his fist with her fingers. "No," she whispered. "I didn't mean that. I meant before. You sitting with us." She swallowed over a dry throat. "Next to me." She watched his face, and his anger seemed to falter, mixed now with confusion. She pulled his hand down and took a step closer to him. "Severus...?"

His face suddenly became hard again. "You're playing with fire, Hermione," he said in a deep, silky tone that caused a thrill to run from her throat through her chest to the pit of her stomach. It was the first time that he had used her given name.

"I'm a big girl now," she challenged him. "And maybe I've had enough of being cold." She raised her chin, tilting her face up in a gesture that was both defiant and inviting.

Severus took in the dark eyes, the smooth skin reddened by cold, the full lips slightly parted, and felt a stirring in his groin, the beginnings of an ache in his heart. Immediately, he clamped down his mind, threw up the black barrier between his inner self and his outward persona. This was how he had managed to shield his true loyalty from Voldemort. This was how he had become so alone.

"You want to know what my embrace is?" he whispered, cold and detached, and leaned over, pressing his lips flatly against hers, his hands now gripping her upper arms, clenched tight. There was no emotion in that kiss, other than spite; it was ugly, meant to be ugly and hurtful.

Hermione didn't flinch away, just stood impassively; this was a demonstration, as the Expelliarmus had been, a test. When he lifted his head, she breathed again, soft puffs that floated into the space between them, and said, "That was a Death Eater's embrace. Now give me Severus."

_I cannot, I don't know who that is, he is buried, he is weak, he is...vulnerable..._

Without taking her eyes from his, Hermione slid her hands up his arms, damp from the snow, one hand curling over his shoulder, one hand onto his neck, cold fingers on warm skin, up into his hair, slick strands sliding between her fingers, eyes now cast downward toward his lips, pressure bringing his face close to hers again, warm breath mixing with warm breath, lips parted, not touching, close enough to feel the tickle of the other's, one...two...three...her lower lip brushing his, just a whisper, another tentative touch, his hands releasing her arms and sliding across her back, another breath, a feather-light kiss, lingering for a moment then pulling back, not relinquishing the conctact, heart pounding, chemical signals zinging along nerves, bundling in her womb, sending blood coursing through him, making him ready, another kiss, sensitive skin against sensitive skin, now giving, now taking, hands pressing bodies, bodies pressing together, a thrill. An awakening.

xOxOxOx

"Remus, what on earth are you doing standing there?" Minerva exclaimed as she and Hagrid approached the grounds, the half-giant stumbling along groggily, the witch doing her level best to keep him headed in the right direction.

"Shhh," Remus hushed her, nodding toward the castle.

"What is it?" Minerva said, peering into the darkness.

"Hermione and Severus," he explained softly. "I don't want them to see me."

"Whyever not?" she asked, irritated. "What's he-- What are they doing?" At this distance, it was hard to make out more than the fact that there were two figures standing close together in relief against the white ground.

"I believe they are kissing."

"You believe-- What?" Minerva looked round-eyed at Remus, then squinted in the direction of Hermione and Severus again.

Remus sighed. "I can't say that I didn't see it coming. I just hoped... Well," he finished sadly.

Minerva appraised the wizard with a keen eye, then nodded. "I see. Remus, I do hope she knows what a friend she has in you," she said sincerely.

Remus nodded, too, wistfully. "Story of my life."

"I'm sleepy, Professor," Hagrid complained, and his eyes were in fact drooping low.

"Yes, yes, Hagrid, we'll get you right off to bed," she said briskly to him, then to Remus, "I will advise them to move it inside. I wouldn't want you to have to spend the night outside for their sake." And with that, she and Hagrid set into motion again, moving in the general direction of the castle.

xOxOxOx

"We have company."

Hermione turned and looked over her shoulder and saw the unmistakable form of Hagrid lurching unevenly toward them. After a moment, she also made out the silhouette of Minerva's hat bobbing along in front of him at about the level of his chest. She took a step away from Severus, dropping her hands to her sides.

"Good evening, Hermione, Severus," McGonagall called out. "Don't mind me, just getting Hagrid here off to bed. You two should be getting inside, you know, you'll catch your deaths!" They veered off to the right, where the gamekeeper's hut stood at the edge of the Forest.

"Wuzzat Hermione?" they heard Hagrid asking thickly, then, "Night, Hermione!" he shouted.

"Good night, Hagrid!" she called back. Then she turned back to Severus. "I suppose the others will be coming soon as well." Should she invite him to come up to her room?

"Yes." And his features became hard once again as a realization hit him.

_The others. Moony. She has been carrying on with the wolf. She is just playing some game here, satisfying her perverse curiosity. Getting me to give in to her wiles, show weakness, so that she and her lover can laugh over me. What a fool I have been!_

"I hope you and your werewolf have enough fodder for your sick fantasies now," he said scathingly, turned, and walked toward the castle.

"What? Wait, Severus--" She ran to catch up with him, grabbed his arm, but he shook her hand off.

"Haven't you toyed with me enough?" he shouted.

"What do you mean?" she begged, feelings of confusion and hurt welling up, and anger, too. Who was toying with whom? You didn't just kiss someone like that--and there had been something there, something real, of that she was certain--and then turn around and toss out crazy, hurtful accusations.

He flung open the great oaken doors and turned right to go downstairs.

"Severus, you will not run away from me again!" she shouted, her voice echoing shrilly in the empty hall.

He wheeled around and faced her, his expression full of rage and contempt. "What are you going to do?" he snarled. "Immobilize me? Bind me? Stun me? You and I both know that your powers are nothing compared to mine."

"I would never use force, especially magical force, against you," she said, trying to keep her voice even, "and not because I think you're stronger, but because that's a weakling's response. But you, you've already demonstrated that you can attack me at will, that you're a big, bad Death Eater. Well, damn you to the nine hells, Severus Snape!" she screamed, losing her temper. "Do you think you're the only one who suffered at the hands of Voldemort? Do you think you're the only one whose life was destroyed? At least you're alive! At least you have another chance! And look what you're making of it! Skulking about some dreary castle in a godforsaken corner of the world, making everyone's life miserable who dares cross your path. Guess what: It's over! For god's sake, Severus, it's over! We won! The good guys won! And you're a good guy!"

"You don't know what you're saying, Hermione," Snape seethed through gritted teeth. _I'm not a good guy! _He wanted to shake her, to slap her, to stop her from uttering another one of those jagged words that were cutting through the last vestiges of his civilized self--

But Hermione was beyond listening. "What do you think any of Voldemort's victims would have given to be in your position right now?" she screamed at him. "What do you think Harry would have given?" She sobbed freely now, her nose running from the cold and from her outburst, her hair flying wildly around her head as if under the effect of an electrical field. "You know what? Life sucks! I hate that I'm alive and Harry isn't! And you hate that you're alive and Albus isn't! But you know what else? Life is also wonderful! What do you think that was that went on between us out there? That was life! It was exciting and intoxicating and brilliant and I want more!"

_Gods help me, so do I, for one moment I believed that those feelings were real. But it has all just been an experiment, a farce. _

"You think I want Remus's leftovers?" he sneered

"What are you talking about?"

"Your werewolf lover!"

Hermione was shocked. "What--? Me and Remus? That's ridiculous, there's nothing between us!"

"Don't lie to me! I've seen the way you touch each other, the way he fawns over you. It's obvious!"

"The only thing that's obvious is that you're not a very good judge of people. I've never so much as kissed him, nor have I had any desire to! Remus is a friend, nothing less, nothing more. I had thought maybe you and I could be friends, too--" She cut herself off before adding 'and more'. She had obviously blown any chance there was of that.

"Had you," he said coldly. "Well now you see what a poor judge of people _you_ are." And with that, he whipped around, his heavy cloak swishing through the air, and retreated down the stairs.

xOxOxOx

"I'm sorry, Remus," Minerva said, and her face looked stricken at what they had heard through the doors.

Remus shrugged. "It's nothing I didn't know, or suspect, already. Still..."

"Still, she obviously considers you a good friend, and that is something rare these days."

Remus nodded, looking at the toes of his scuffed boots.

After a minute, Minerva said, "I believe they have both left. Shall we?" She placed her hand on the handle and opened the door.

xOxOxOx

In the gamekeeper's hut, a half a mountain snored under a pile of skins.

In the Headmistress's office, an elderly witch sat before the fire, her feet propped up, dozing.

In the Head of Gryffindor's room, a weary werewolf climbed into bed. Alone. Again. Always.

In another room in Gryffindor tower, a young professor cried for shame, anger, and loss.

In the dungeons, a former (?) Death Eater was on his knees, his head against the bare stone floor, surrounded by broken objects. And cried.

_AN: Minerva's toast is a traditional Jacobite toast from Scotland. _


	11. Chapter 11 Under the Impression

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_AN: Oops, this has somehow ballooned into another huge chapter. Think I'll cut it in two. Thanks to those of you who are still with me! Think we lost a few in Chapter 10...I'll try to answer some of your concerns:_

_1. Wow, I'm really sorry that you felt I was being too harsh on Remus. I'm not trying to hurt him. However, I'm having a hard enough time getting Severus to do what I want, much less having to deal with everyone else's love life as well. Don't worry, Remus isn't depressed or anything. He's come to terms with his life._

_2. Grapes are not lemons. Grapes are juicy, luscious moments between Hermione and Severus. There'll be more of 'em coming. Better, juicier ones. Just (cringes, getting ready for onslaught of tomatoes) not in this chapter._

**CHAPTER 11**

**Under the Impression**

A knock sounded at Hermione's door. It would be Remus. Again. She hadn't been down to meals in two days. He kept checking on her, apparently under the impression that she was ill. She was happy to leave him with that impression.

She pushed the covers off and went to the door, opened it just wide enough to accommodate her body, but not wide enough to be considered inviting..

"Hi, Hermione," he greeted her with a wan smile. Was it just her, or were his smiles getting sadder? Probably just his way of showing concern at her supposed illness.

"Morning, Remus," she replied with an equally wan smile. It was, she supposed, still technically morning.

"I'm just heading down to lunch. Feeling up to joining me?"

"No, thanks, I'll probably just have a sandwich sent up." The house-elves had been, as usual, happy to accomodate her whims and delivered food and drink whenever she felt like it, which hadn't been all that often, in all honesty.

Remus nodded as if that was the answer he had expected. "Let me know if you need anything," he offered, as he usually did.

"OK. Thanks." She was about to close the door again when Remus turned back, hesitating, as if he wanted to say something but didn't know how to begin. "What is it?" she asked, leaning against the door frame.

He looked first at his feet, then raised his head and took the plunge. "Severus hasn't been in the Great Hall, either. Since the reunion." He nodded solemnly once to punctuate the statement and left.

Hermione lingered in the doorway until Remus had gone around the corner. Her heart was thudding against her ribs. What did he know? More importantly, what had he meant by that? Or, put another way, why was Severus not appearing for meals, and why did Remus feel that she should be informed of that fact?

She went back in, closed the door, and crawled back into bed. She had been reading a very stark account of Grindelwald's persecution of kabbalists and it had done wonders toward making her stop feeling sorry for herself. She might even make it down to dinner. Especially if Severus wasn't going to be there.

When she recalled the events of two nights previous, she was in turns despondent and hopeful. On the one hand, she had made him angry again. No. Wait. Revision. _He_ had gotten angry again. _She_ hadn't done anything wrong. It was far too easy for her to fall into his trap of putting the blame on others for his insecurities. She hadn't been toying with him. She had been sincere in every one of her thoughts and actions regarding him. Why couldn't he see that? Why did he insist on being so obtuse, on jumping to every single wrong conclusion that he could lay his hands on? It seemed that no matter what she did, he would throw up a barrier. Those were the thoughts leading to despondency.

But then she remembered the other bits. The physical bits. The exciting bits. The kisses outside in the middle of the night, in the middle of the snow, when she was certain, absolutely certain in the way a woman is certain about such things, that she had connected with the real man underneath all the damage, bluffs, and insecurities. And that had been brilliant. Exhilarating, thrilling, passionate. It wasn't just the physical chemistry that had happened between them, it was something deeper, something to do with trust and belief and...compassion? Empathy? ...Love?

And that was where she got hopeful. If she had gotten through to him once, surely she could again. She wanted to. Because it wasn't just about him anymore, about rehabilitating his reputation or convincing him that he wasn't evil. It had become about them. She wasn't sure at what point it had happened, and she wasn't sure that it would lead to anything at all, but Severus had become more than just interesting to her, and she wanted to explore that. She deserved it. They both did.

...xOxOxOx...

Hermione took a spoonful of her Stilton soup and marveled at the creamy texture. Those house-elves were geniuses at food. Well, after all, they had been bred for it. The staff door to the Great Hall opened, and Hermione looked over immediately, half hoping and half fearing that it would be Severus, but it was just Professor Vector. She smiled at her and returned to her meal.

The Hall was sparsely populated by the perhaps two dozen students who had remained over the holidays, and the staff presence had likewise thinned out: Angelina was spending the holidays with her boyfriend, a Muggle pro footballerr; Professor Sinistra had gone to New Zealand to view a solar eclipse; Professor Smith was at Disney World with his family; Professor Flitwick had gone to visit relatives at the North Pole; and Snape, it seemed, was still holed up in his dungeons.

She had debated whether to go down yet again and try to coax him to come to dinner, but in the end had opted to simply show up herself, and see whether he also would come of his own accord. The fact that he was also making himself scarce indicated to her that he had been affected by that night as well, perhaps similarly to how she had been; she didn't think he would have stayed away from meals if he were only angry at her; after all, he spent most of his time being angry about one thing or another, and he still usually showed up for meals. Could it be that he was embarrassed about having made false accusations against her? That he didn't want to be reminded of his behaviour by seeing her? Or maybe he was regretful of what he had said and done at the Leaky Cauldron, and it wasn't her that he was avoiding, but rather Professor McGonagall. That also didn't seem very probable, as not a day went by that he didn't insult someone or other, and again, it had never kept him from meals before. Maybe he was ill, she thought suddenly. He had gotten quite damp rolling around in the snow. Someone should check on him...

"Remus," she said, putting down her spoon, "has anyone checked on Severus? It could be that he got sick the other night. From being out in the cold, I mean." She didn't want to give any more details. No one knew what had transpired between them; at least, she didn't think so. Perhaps Minerva had seen something when she had passed by with Hagrid, but she wasn't one to gossip.

"He's been having his meals delivered to his rooms, the house-elves have told me, so he is alive, at least," the Headmistress informed her, once she had swallowed her mouthful of Welsh rarebit.

"I-- I'd like it if someone would make sure he's all right," Hermione said tentatively. "I'd rather not go myself this time; something tells me I've probably annoyed him enough in recent days." She gave Minerva a nervous smile.

Minerva raised her eyebrows, as if surprised at Hermione's assessment of the situation, but simply said, "I feel certain that if he were too ill to take care of himself, he would have reported to the infirmary."

Hermione wasn't so sure about that, but Remus saved her from arguing the point by saying, "I'll go down after dinner. There was something I wanted to discuss with him anyway." He did not look at Hermione, but concentrated on cutting his meat.

Hermione frowned. What did Remus want to discuss with Severus?

...xOxOxOx...

_I'm a coward. A coward and a weakling. Letting that twit of a Mudblood witch get to me. Only she's not a twit. She's cleverer than I want to admit, and she's much more interesting than that bossy juvenile she used to be. Interesting? If only it were a matter of simple interest. There are many people--witches, wizards, Muggles--who are interesting from the point of view of their achievements or their appearance; I always found Tonks's metamorphic ability quite captivating, for instance; and the Muggle spy Melita Norwood also intrigued me. _

_But Granger--Hermione (when did I start thinking of her as Hermione?)--is in a category all to herself. Unbelievably nosy, an infernal annoyance, thoroughly ignorant of decorum, a monumental pest who has done nothing but sow discontent in my life. Yet I find myself unable to face her. The memory of what she...did to me...what she did with me...how exposed I was... Those fingers, those hands, those arms, those lips... I am no stranger to physical stimulation, but the reaction she was able to elicit with barely the whisper of a caress put all of Lenore's considerable exertions on my behalf to shame. Not that there is any comparison between the two. Lenore simply relieves an irksome physical demand, much as a bar wench brings a thirsty man a drink. There is no further connection between service provider and patron. Hermione is a woman (yes, dammit, a woman! as if that hadn't been clear to me before) who demands attention, who wants something in return for her attentions. _

_It would have been so easy if she had just been using me to make the werewolf jealous; or if she were simply exploring her own ability to charm men. But she has to complicate things with those damned Gryffindor attributes: honour, virtue, honesty, loyalty. All things I know nothing about._

A chime announced that someone was out in the corridor and wished his presence.

_Merlin, let it be nothing more than a student._

But the unknown visitor was not saying anything to make his (or her--_don't let it be her, not now_--) presence known, which meant it was certainly not a Slytherin student--or if it was, he or she would soon be on the receiving end of a Snape-class berating, since they were all under strict orders to announce themselves when they required an audience.

_Moony. Better or worse than her? Can I reserve judgment on that?_

"Lupin," Snape sneered. "What do you want?"

"Good evening, Severus," Remus said pleasantly. "Might I come in for a moment?"

"No."

"I'd rather not talk to you out here in the hall."

"Then you can leave."

"It's something of a personal nature. I feel it's important."

_Personal? Good gods, maybe he actually is going to fight for her. This might be entertaining after all._

Snape stood aside to allow Remus to enter, then closed the portal behind him. He did not offer Remus a seat, but stood next to the door, his arms crossed.

He was curt. "What is it, and be quick. I have things to do."

"You must have been quite busy the past couple of days," Remus noted politely. "Haven't seen you around."

"Surely you didn't come here to discuss how I have been occupying my time."

Remus gave him a self-deprecating smile. "Yes and no."

"Explain yourself."

Instead of speaking right away, Remus looked around the sparsely furnished room. "I don't know that I've ever actually been in here."

"And with good reason."

"You and I, we're both a bit of a loner."

_Great Merlin above, he's not making a play for me himself, is he?_

Snape merely glared at Remus in an off-putting manner.

Remus wandered over to the table and glanced at the papers spread over it. "Hermione didn't come out of her room for the past two days," he said offhandedly.

Snape's eyebrow jumped up, but he immediately got it under control again.

"I didn't ask her why, although I think I know." Remus adjusted a paper, turning it toward him as if he were interested in its contents. Normally, Snape would have been snapping at him to leave his papers alone, but he knew that Remus wasn't even seeing them.

"She was at dinner tonight, though. Think she wondered where you were. Thought you might have taken ill. Something about having been out in the cold." He cast a sideways glance at Snape, but the other man did not so much as give a sign that he had heard.

Remus moved on to the nearest bookcase and turned his head sideways, as if he were reading the spines. "I won't pretend that I don't care about her. I'm sure you know that I do."

_Ah, here it comes. He's going to tell me to stay away from her. Precious!_

Snape smirked.

Remus took a deep breath, standing with his back to Snape. "There's nothing between her and me, Severus. Never has been. Never will be." He turned halfway around and looked at Snape over his shoulder, giving him a half-smile. "Not that I would mind, mind you." He shrugged. "But you know how it is."

He turned to face Snape, standing stiffly, his hands behind his back. "I'm here because she was worried about you, but was afraid to come down herself. Can't say that I blame her, personally, after the way you've been letting your temper get the better of you."

Snape's gaze darkened.

Remus walked back toward the door and stopped next to the other wizard. "She won't hurt you, Severus. She's waiting for a sign from you. I hope to goodness I won't regret saying this, but...I think you should take this chance. From one lone wolf to another."

Snape stiffened even further, if that were possible. "I would hardly compare myself with you, Lupin."

Remus smiled to himself and looked down. "No, I know you wouldn't. Nonetheless." He looked up at Snape again. "Don't let the past destroy your--and her--future." He inclined his head in a little bow and turned to the exit.

Snape let his uninvited visitor out, then resealed his den.

_I hate that man! So smug and self-righteous. Lone wolf, indeed. That was an interesting exchange, however. So he thinks I should make a play for Hermione after all. I'm not quite sure what to make of that. It won't be that he gives a damn what happens to me. Unless...oh, how very noble of him. How very, very Gryffindor. They deserve each other. I certainly don't._

...xOxOxOx...

"Well, Hermione, what can I do for you?" Minerva sat behind her desk, her hands folded primly before her.

"I'd like to ask you some questions, if I might. About Severus's trial."

"Oh Hermione, for goodness' sake!" The Headmistress sounded more than a little exasperated. "I think I know what your interest in Severus is all about now; I do have eyes in my head, you know. All those issues--his past involvement with the Death Eaters, his spy status, his trial--"

Hermione noticed that she hadn't mentioned Dumbledore's killing.

"--those are all dead and buried. You should try to work with what you have now. That's my advice to you."

Hermione tried not to be embarrassed at Professor McGonagall's obvious allusion to Hermione's attraction to Severus; in fact, she decided not to go there at all. "Thank you, Minerva, I appreciate the wisdom of your experience, but I need to know about the trial. Remus couldn't help me, since he wasn't there, but he said you were."

"Yes, I was, as a member of the panel. As such, as you undoubtedly are aware, I cannot discuss the Wizengamot's decisions."

"I know, not the decision, but surely you can tell me what evidence was brought against him, what his defense consisted of. There will be transcripts, after all."

"Honestly, Hermione, I do not wish to become involved in dragging this issue up again. The decision was made to drop the charges against him, that much you already know, and beyond that the details are irrelevant. Why can't you let it stand at that?"

"Because--" She flailed around for an explanation, one that would sound reasonable to the Headmistress, but really, it was just a burning desire for knowledge, and so she let it stand at that. "I just have to know! It might help me to understand him better. Or maybe there's some information there that will convince people like Hagrid that he was never really a Death Eater. Because he wasn't, I'm just sure of it. Oh, I don't know, it's just that I have the feeling that there's something there, some vital information that everyone's missed."

"And you think that you will discover what the entire Wizengamot with their vast experience and knowledge failed to find?" She sounded both amused and condescending.

Hermione didn't know how to answer that without sounding incredibly conceited. Yes, she did think that. Wasn't it she who had found out that the monster in Slytherin's chamber was a basilisk? When even Dumbledore and the entire staff had been stumped? Hadn't she gotten past the potions task, which had been constructed to thwart the greatest minds from among Voldemort's minions (and they weren't all goons like Macnair), to get to the Philosopher's Stone?

"Do not take it personally, Minerva, Professor Granger always was an inquisitive nature." A familiar voice spoke from the wall, sending goosebumps down Hermione's arms. Was that--?

Professor Dumbledore was looking down at Hermione with a kindly smile on his face. Or his portrait was, at any rate.

"Albus, this concerns a matter which has nothing to do with the running of Hogwarts. It is out of your area." Hermione thought that the Headmistress was being overly snippy.

Dumbledore's picture nodded gravely. "True, but it seems to me that you are discussing a matter which involves two current instructors, both of whom I happen to have had the pleasure of knowing during my tenure. Perhaps I can give some insights after all."

"Professor," Hermione blurted out, suddenly seized with an inspiration. Why had no one thought to ask Dumbledore himself what had happened? "Can you tell me about that night-- I mean, about... About when you died?"

Dumbledore's smile turned wistful. "Unfortunately, or fortunately, as it seems that I met with a rather unpleasant demise, judging by what the other portraits have told me, I have no knowledge of that event. It must have happened, clearly, or I would be sitting in that chair right now, enjoying an After Eight mint." _Mmmm... After Eights..._

"So you know that Professor Snape is supposed to have killed you?"

"Hermione, really, I hardly think that--" Minerva began, but Dumbledore cut her off.

"It's all right, Minerva, it is not painful to discuss it, after all. Yes, I have heard some rather vicious rumours to that effect."

"Could they be true? You knew Professor Snape better than anyone. You trusted him and kept him on here even when others insisted he was a spy for Voldemort."

"He was," Dumbledore answered calmly.

"He was...what?"

"He was a spy for Lord Voldemort. Just as he was a spy for our side. Oh, don't look so shocked, Professor. Conflicting parties need a way of exchanging information. Professor Snape played a very important role in the Order. The information which he provided us with was accurate and enabled us to prevent many deaths."

"But... But then, if was also passing on information to Voldemort, then he betrayed you, too!"

Dumbledore looked at her over the top of his half-moon glasses. "The fine difference, one which many people fail to see, is that Professor Snape was unable to pass on any information to Lord Voldemort which could possibly have harmed our side. After all, we were not planning murders and mayhem. We were merely attempting to stop him from doing them. I made quite sure that truly sensitive information, such as the location of our Headquarters, and the identities of inside operatives, were safeguarded from betrayal by anyone."

"So you could never make Professor Snape a Secret Keeper."

"Precisely. As much for his own protection as for ours. And while we knew that he was passing information to Lord Voldemort, I am quite certain that Lord Voldemort was unaware of Professor Snape's duplicity."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because Professor Snape is still alive today," Dumbledore replied simply.

"So he was really working more for the Order than for the Death Eaters. Which means he couldn't have killed you."

"On the contrary. In fact, I certainly hope that he did."

Hermione gasped. "What? Why?"

"Because, I told him to."


	12. Chapter 12 Christmas

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_AN: That wasn't really a cliff-hanger, was it? It's not like that's a new theory or anything, that Dumbledore arranged his own death. Plus that was really the end of the scene, even before I split the chapter. We find out in a later scene (in this chapter) what else Hermione discussed with the portrait._

_In this chapter: Assorted Weasleys, more lowdown on Dumbledore, Christmas, and...a tiny grape. It's the best I can do! I had to wrestle Severus to the floor to get that much out of him!_

**CHAPTER 12**

**It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas**

When Hermione walked in to the Great Hall the next morning, she looked immediately at the staff table and found Severus sitting at his usual place. He gave no sign that he had seen her, in fact did not even look up from his plate. She'd thought he would play it that way. But she was at least glad that he had showed up. And she was prepared.

She walked purposefully up to the table, greeted the other instructors who were present as she passed them, gave Remus an extra squeeze on the shoulder, and then sat down, not in her usual seat beside Remus, but a few places farther down. Next to Severus. She glanced at Remus to make sure he wasn't offended. He nodded in understanding and gave her a small, but encouraging smile. Satisfied, Hermione pulled her chair up to the table and said, pleasantly, "Good morning, Severus."

"Mnghm," he grunted, keeping his eyes fixed on his eggs Benedict.

_I knew I should have had breakfast sent down again. Coming here was just asking for something like this to happen. Now I suppose she will want to engage in chit-chat. _

Hermione helped herself to toast and eggs, propped up the _Journal of Magical Inquiry_ she had brought with her so that she could read it while she ate, and proceeded to ignore him.

_Ah, perhaps it is an apology she's after. Well she can sit there until she turns blue in the face, she won't get one._

Hermione silently ate her meal, looking at the article in front of her. It was entitled "The Dual Strain Theory and Intent". She couldn't really concentrate on reading it, though, because she was too distracted by Severus' physical presence. They weren't sitting close together as they had at the Leaky Cauldron; such proximity wasn't even possible with the big throne-like arm chairs which the professors sat in. But she was still aware of practically every breath he took. He had stopped eating now, letting his fork rest between his fingers (those long, pale fingers with blackened nails) and his plate. He leaned forward a fraction of an inch, his forearms now resting on the edge of the table. She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be reading over her shoulder!

She hurriedly re-fixed her gaze on the article. _"...simple charms such as those in the Leviosate group also require intent, while such clearly devastating spells as the Sempras can wreak considerable damage even when used incautiously..."_ She finished up slowly, sopping up the egg with her toast, picking the crumbs off the table and dropping them carefully onto her plate. When she couldn't draw her breakfast out any longer, she pushed her chair back. "You can borrow it if you like," she remarked to Severus, and moved the journal over to stand before his plate.

He started to protest, "Oh, no, I wasn't--"

"Just drop it on my desk or something when you're done," she said, and without waiting for an answer, left.

Snape scowled and looked around to see if anyone were watching them, but there were only three students sitting at the Ravenclaw table engrossed in a game of Exploding Snap, Professor Vector, and Professor Sprout left in the room, the others having already finished and left.

_Now what is she up to? I swear, she is more puzzling than De Prue's Third Conundrum. And the most beautiful-- Oh, now stop it! She's not beautiful at all! Her hair is a disaster and her forehead is too broad and she wears glasses when she reads and her mouth is too big... All right, yes, I admit I do find her attractive. Now what was that about the Sempras...?_

xOxOxOx

Hermione was on her way to The Burrow. She meant to pump Arthur for information on the trial; he had been there merely as an observer, so he would surely be able to tell her more than Minerva had been willing to divulge. She also wanted to see Ron again; his mother had guilted him into staying there through Christmas, and it wasn't often that one could pin Ron down to stay in one place.

They were expecting her, so she flooed into their kitchen.

"Hermione!" Molly exclaimed, trotting over from the sink where she had been blow-drying the dishes with hot air from her wand. "Come over here, you've just got some soot in your hair, there you are, dear. How are you? Are you getting enough to eat at the school? Look at you, you've turned into a lovely young woman--"

"Mother, it's only been three days since you saw her," Ginny remarked drily from where she was sitting at the kitchen table, supervising a bushel of apples that were peeling themselves.

"Yes, I know, but we didn't really get a chance to talk, did we, dear?" She beamed proprietarily at Hermione. Hermione knew that Molly had been adamantly against her and Ron's break-up, and was still hopeful that the two of them would end up together.

Hermione smiled back. Maybe she could get some information out of Molly as well. "No, we didn't," she agreed, and added more soberly, "I'm awfully sorry I left so abruptly."

"It was very upsetting," Molly tutted sympathetically. "It was just awful, Hagrid bringing up... well, you know." She patted Hermione on the arm and led her to the table.

Ginny snorted. "He only said what everyone else was thinking. Snape's a murderous traitor, and it was about time someone said it to his face. I don't get why you left right after him, though." She frowned and looked at Hermione.

Molly glared at her daughter, then turned to their visitor with a kindly look. "Don't mind her, Hermione, dear. I understand completely. But let's not dwell on such unpleasant subjects." She pushed open the kitchen door and leaned out. "Ron! Hermione's here to see you!" She beamed at Hermione again. "He's been so looking forward to seeing you again."

"Mother, Ron and Hermione have been broken up for over three years," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

Molly gave her another withering glare, then smiled sweetly at Hermione. "So, 'Professor'," she said, winking, "how do things look from the other side of the desk?"

"I actually have a lot more respect now for my professors," Hermione honestly admitted. "I actually defended Severus when he placed half of the Fourth Years in detention for a week."

Ginny raised her eyebrows at her mother as if to say, 'See? What did I tell you?', but didn't say anything, just twirled her wand to make an apple peel spiral off.

"Oh?" Molly said, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that Hermione had brought up Professor Snape right away again.

"And I used to think it was a lot of work to _write_ three feet on a subject, but just imagine how much more work it is to _read_ twenty such essays! All full of so many mistakes you get a headache from the grammar alone!"

"Then why assign them?" Ginny asked smartly.

"Because it's the best way to prepare for O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Especially in History of Magic, where there's no practical part to the exams. You've got to know the facts, but you've also got to be able to write a decent essay."

"Hermione!" Ron burst into the room, all six feet two of him, and smothered Hermione in a hug where she sat at the table.

"Ergh, it's good to see you again, too, Ron," Hermione said into his shoulder.

"So what brings you to The Burrow?" Ron asked, releasing Hermione and pulling up a chair.

"Oh, you know, seeing you all the other night made me realize how long it's been," she said vaguely. "I thought I really should stop in and see you again."

Molly raised her eyebrows at Ginny, giving her her own 'see what did I tell you' look.

"There is actually something I wanted to discuss with Arthur, too," she admitted. "Is he around?"

"He's at the office today, but he'll be getting off early as it's Christmas Eve. Should be home shortly after four," Molly informed her. "But now you have me curious. What is it about?"

Hermione had the feeling it would be better not to mention Severus for the third time in five minutes, so she said only, "Oh, just something I though he might remember from a few years ago. Do you think I can come back later on?"

Molly frowned. "Of course, but don't tell me you're leaving right away again. You've only just gotten here. Surely you'll stay for lunch, at least?"

"I had wanted to go into London today, do some last-minute Christmas shopping," she said tentatively, looking at Ron.

"Perfect!" he exclaimed, taking the cue. "I need to go in to the store today anyway and lend a hand. We can floo in together, then you can go do your shopping and we can meet up somewhere for lunch. Sound good?"

"Brilliant," Hermione said, relieved. What she wanted to discuss with Ron was definitely something that needed to be done as far away from The Burrow as possible.

...xOxOxOx...

After checking out Ron's Rarities and Rummage, where she bought a 'Toujours Blanc' French lace tablerunner for her mother (guaranteed never to yellow) and an antique model car for her father's collection (it would obey voice commands), she went into Muggle London, where she headed straight for the Godiva chocolate shop in Covent Garden. They had a particularly divine gift box of assorted truffles, and she bought one for each staff member. Then it was back to Diagon Alley to send her purchases back to Hogwarts by express owl, and she just barely had time to nip into Spick and Spark to select a present for Ron before she had to get to the restaurant where they had agreed to meet for lunch.

"So, you able to get everything?" Ron inquired, once they had been seated.

"Not quite; I'd like to go to Waterstone's this afternoon," she said, referring to the grand bookstore.

"Books again," Ron grinned.

"I've always done well by books," Hermione said. "Oh, and this is for you." She produced a large box wrapped in silver and red foil. "Happy Christmas!"

"Hermione, you shouldn't have," Ron gulped. "I mean-- I didn't--"

"Don't worry about it, Ron," Hermione said, realizing that he hadn't gotten anything for her. "It's just something you might find useful."

Ron unpacked the box to reveal something that looked like a cross between a food processor and a toaster oven. It was labeled 'Kwik Kitchen Kit'. Ron looked like he didn't know what to say, which he probably didn't.

"It'll cook twenty-three simple meals for you. All you have to do is put in the ingredients," Hermione explained happily. "I know you don't like to cook, so this way you don't have to go out to eat all the time."

"Oh. Thanks, Hermione," Ron said, putting the appliance down under the table, "you _were_ always thoughtful like that."

"You're welcome. So how's business?"

"Haven't a clue, to be honest," he shrugged with a genial grin. "You know I was never very good with books and numbers and things. Fred and George recommended their accountant, but I'm not so sure I like the way he juggles the books. Literally. He's got this trick where he'll take all the accounts books and make them fly around to spell out 'fog', but somehow I think he's always one short when they come back down. And he can't bloody spell to save his life; it always comes out 'fug'.

"Ron, he probably does mean fug. That's the Latin root meaning to run away. You're probably right about him making books disappear."

"Oh yeah? Funny, I always thought he was referring to the weather."

Hermione smiled. Good old Ron. They ordered their food and chatted some more about Ron's recent travels and some of the current seventh-year students who had been First Years at Hogwarts during Ron and Hermione's last year there. From there the conversation moved easily to their former professors, and it seemed that Ron had just been waiting for an opening to ask, "So what's up with you and Snape anyway? Lupin said you had taken him on as some sort of charity project. I didn't want to say anything right there in front of him, but are you bloody out of your mind?" Ron's voice escalated in pitch and volume such that diners at nearby tables looked in their direction and frowned.

"I know what everyone thinks about him. You all made that perfectly clear at the reunion, which by the way I thought was simply disgraceful. The way everyone was so rude, and especially that no one stood up for him when Hagrid got up. Not that I blame Hagrid," she sighed. "Poor man." She picked up a forkful of lasagne and put it into her mouth.

"Hello, earth to Hermione!" Ron goggled. "Weren't you there? Didn't you hear how he insulted Bill and Lupin first? And what Hagrid said was true! He did kill Dumbledore! I don't care what the Wizengamot says, Harry told us what really happened, or don't you believe that anymore?"

She swallowed. "I do, but it's not like you think."

"Oh, and I suppose you know how it really is. What, did Snape tell you something like he thought Dumbledore was really a Polyjuiced Death Eater?"

"No," Hermione answered calmly. "He was supposed to kill Dumbledore."

"Duh, on You-Know-Who's orders!"

"No, silly. On Dumbledore's orders." Hermione felt very smug at that moment.

"Excuse me?"

"Dumbledore made Severus agree to kill him. He was about to die anyway. Remember how his hand was all withered and black during our sixth year? Well, it was from a Curse he'd incurred when he destroyed the Horcrux in the Gaunt ring. Impossible to heal. And not only that, it was creeping up his arm. It would've destroyed all the tissue in his entire body eventually. And," Hermione sighed, "he was just old. He was a hundred and fifty-three years old. Even for a wizard, he was pushing the limits of longevity. His body was tired, he was tired, and he knew that if Severus killed him, that would give him a tremendous boost in Voldemort's eyes. It would guarantee that Voldemort never questioned his loyalty again. Or at least long enough for Harry to get the rest of the Horcruxes and for Severus, hopefully, to betray him to Harry. Which is what happened." She took a sip of her drink, feeling quite superior.

Ron looked irritated at Hermione calling Snape by his first name, but there was a more pressing issue at hand. "So you're telling me that Dumbledore sacrificed himself for the cause."

Hermione looked him straight in the eye. "Yes."

"Bloody hell," he whispered.

"Yes," Hermione agreed solemnly.

Ron thought for a moment, his brow furrowed. Finally, he said, "It could have gone terribly wrong, though. Suppose that Harry never would have found the Horcruxes."

"He had me." Hermione sat up a little straighter, as if affronted that Ron would question the efficacy of her research.

"Suppose that he would have given up the whole thing as a lost cause. He nearly did when the Death Eaters were able to retrieve Hufflepuff's cup before we did."

"You didn't let him, did you."

Ron's ears went red. "Yeah, well, suppose that Snape had turned out to be evil after all and helped Voldemort against Harry?" Ron looked triumphantly at Hermione, certain that he had found the weak point in her argument.

"Dumbledore trusted Severus. And so do I."

"Damn, Hermione, would you stop calling him that? It's bloody annoying!"

Hermione looked down at the remains of her lasagne. She wanted desperately to be able to talk to Ron about her and Severus...not that there really was a her and Severus, it was more like a her thinking of Severus in ways that would probably cause Ron to have a conniption fit. But it was important to her that Ron understand, and also that he not feel like he was the last to know if something really did develop between the two of them. She felt she owed that to him. "He's really not that bad," she said quietly.

"Not that bad? What is your definition of bad?"

"He's been hurt, Ron," she said earnestly. "Most of what he says is just him pushing people away before they can hurt him more."

"And that's not bad?" Ron snorted.

She sighed. "I just hoped that if he saw that not everyone hated him, that he'd make more of an effort himself, which would make more people react to him positively...or, at least not negatively."

"And we can see how well that's worked," Ron sneered.

"It has had an effect," Hermione said tentatively, still not looking at Ron.

"What effect?"

Hermione swallowed. "I...think I like him, Ron." She raised her eyes a little to see what Ron's reaction was.

"You mean, you think he has some likeable quality," Ron tried to qualify her statement, giving her a hard look.

"Yes. And...something else."

"Hermione, what are you telling me." Ron's voice had a threatening undertone.

"Now, don't get all fussed, it's not like there's anything going on, we only kissed once--"

"You kissed Snape!" Ron yelped, setting the dishes on their table a-clattering.

She tried to placate him, casting nervous glances at the other customers, who again were looking at them somewhat askance. "I told you, there's nothing going on."

"You call kissing him nothing going on? What are we talking here, a peck on the cheek?"

Hermione blushed and looked down.

"More?" he screeched. "Were tongues involved? No. Scratch that. I don't want to know. I do not want to know." He leaned across the table toward her, speaking in a low, urgent voice. "Merlin, Hermione! What are you thinking? Snape!"

"I wanted you to know, Ron, I felt I kind of owed it to you. I mean, I do still think of you as my best friend."

"And so, what, you want my blessing or something? Cripes, that's stretching the bounds of even our friendship."

"You don't mean that, do you?" She looked troubled.

Ron ran a hand through his shaggy red hair and exhaled loudly. "I suppose not," he sighed. "Is he good to you, at least?"

Hermione didn't know how to answer that. Technically, he hadn't been. "We're working on it," she said evasively.

"Does everyone know? Lupin, the other teachers?"

Hermione shook her head. "Like I said, there's really nothing going on. We've mostly been avoiding each other."

"That sounds promising," Ron muttered drily.

"Oh Ron, I'd really like it if I could count on you, for someone to talk to, if I need it."

"Only spare me the gory details, all right?"

"Yes, thanks, Ron," Hermione said gratefully.

"Oh, and Hermione? I don't think you should be mentioning any of this back at The Burrow. Mum'll have a heart attack and Ginny'll probably haul you right off to the St. Mungo's."

...xOxOxOx...

"Well, Hermione, it's nice to see you again so soon." Arthur settled back in his armchair. Molly had guaranteed them exactly fifteen minutes of non-interruption before she served dinner. "I was sorry you had to leave so quickly the other night. I understand, though, it must have been upsetting to be reminded of Harry and all." He busied himself with adjusting the buttons on his cardigan.

"I also went to support Severus," she said. "It's so unfair how everyone is still treating him."

"He doesn't make it any easier, you know," he sighed.

Hermione shook her head. "That's not the point. I mean, the Wizengamot did rule that he was innocent. How can people still go around believing that he killed Dumbledore on Voldemort's orders? Didn't it ever come out that Dumbledore was the one who had him do it?"

Arthur looked surprised. "How did you know about that?"

"I had a little chat with Dumbledore's portrait."

Arthur nodded in understanding. "Well, I'm sure you can appreciate that a portrait cannot be called to testify in a criminal hearing. And the only other person who knew of that agreement was Severus himself, and he refused to testify in his behalf."

"He did? Why?"

Arthur shrugged. "Only he can answer that. I would venture to guess that he was feeling so miserable about having done it that he didn't care what happened to him at that point. We also only found out about it from the portrait after the trial."

Hermione's heart went out to Snape on hearing that. It must have been so lonely, knowing that he had done such a terrible thing, even with the extenuating circumstances. "So why wasn't he convicted then? If he really did kill Dumbledore, and no evidence was brought which might have lessened the blame?"

"I didn't say that." Arthur looked at Hermione sharply. "He was most definitely cleared of the charge of having used an Unforgivable Curse, which would have carried a mandatory term in Azkaban. As it was, he was actually convicted of the lesser charge of culpability in a death, and it was decided that the time he had already spent on remand constituted a just punishment."

"But I don't understand," Hermione said, frowning. "He did perform the Killing Curse. Harry told us."

"Of course, Harry couldn't testify at the trial anymore," it seemed to pain Arthur to point out, "but the surviving Death Eaters who witnessed the incident were more than happy to tell their stories of Snape aiming his wand at Dumbledore and uttering the incantation, and they all agreed that the telltale green beam did strike Dumbledore directly in the chest."

Hermone seized on an idea. "Were they testifying under Veritaserum? It seems likely that they would have lied in order to get back at Severus for betraying their Lord."

"I'm sure they were questioned under Veritaserum at some point, although whether it was used during the trial, I cannot say. I'm only telling you what I remember seeing and hearing as a spectator. But I believe that what they told was true, since Malfoy corroborated the story."

Draco Malfoy had defected from the ranks of the Death Eaters following his botched assassination attempt. He had been so fearful of Voldemort's wrath that he had begged, and received, protection from Harry himself. Malfoy certainly wouldn't have lied to put Snape in prison. He had always admired Snape and had in a certain way taken the same life path. Hermione wondered if a similar incident at some point in the past had been what caused Dumbledore to put such faith in Snape's loyalty. She, for one, knew that she could trust Draco with her life. She had.

"So how could the Wizengamot have come to the conclusion that Severus didn't perform the Killing Curse?" This was the one point which just didn't make sense to Hermione. The rest of it was falling into place, but how could he not have performed the _Avada Kedavra_ if he had clearly performed the _Avada Kedavra_?

Arthur shrugged. "I wasn't privy to their deliberations. It _was_ a bit of a sensation that day when the judgment was passed down. Maybe Minerva can fill you in."

"I already tried asking her," Hermione pouted. "She's hiding behind some oath of nondisclosure."

"Then I don't know what else to tell you. It is puzzling, but in the end unimportant. Now, how about we go in to dinner? The smell of that glazed ham is driving me batty!"

...xOxOxOx...

Christmas morning. Hermione awoke to the fleeting memory of a delicious, if naughty, dream. Severus had been in it, and her body was still tingling over it, but she couldn't recall any of the details. Gone. She sighed happily and sat up, now eager to see what presents had been left for her by the House-Elves. There was a small pile at the foot of her bed, and she grinned in delight. She had been able to hand her own presents of chocolates and a couple of extras for Remus and Hagrid to the House-Elves after her late return from The Burrow the previous night, so that they could be distributed to their recipients as well. For Severus, she had ordered a subscription to _JMI_, which he would be informed of at breakfast by Owl post. She wouldn't be there, however, as her parents were expecting her for brunch at nine, and they would exchange their presents then, too, as was their family tradition.

Now, however, she set about unwrapping the gifts from her wizarding friends and colleagues. There was a pink Everfragrant blossom in a tiny pot from Professor Sprout; a tin of Kringle's gingerbread from Professor Flitwick; a fifth of scotch from Professor McGonagall; two tickets to a football match in which her boyfriend's team was playing from Angelina; a book from Ron (he must have rushed out and bought it yesterday afternoon); and a picture frame from Molly with the note 'so you don't lose sight of your loved ones'. Hermione could easily figure out whose picture Molly hoped she would put in there; it would probably end up being one of her parents, though.

...xOxOxOx...

_What am I going to do with an Everfragrant? Does Pomona really think I am about to place a pink flower in a prominent position on my desk? These Kringles are rather nice, however. An assortment of teas from Minerva, and...chocolates. From Hermione. I hope that this isn't some sort of sign of affection from her. I will have to find out whether she gave them to everyone on the staff. I wonder why she didn't come to lunch and dinner yesterday. Probably making some childish point because I didn't talk to her at breakfast. Well it's too bloody bad if she doesn't like it. That's the way it has to be. I can't entertain the possibility of 'more'. It would be too difficult, too intrusive. I suppose I cannot hope that she won't show up for breakfast again this morning, however. It is Christmas Day, after all. And for the sake of representing Slytherin House, I shall have to show up as well. Perhaps I can position myself between Arcanum and Vector, so that she can't sit next to me. Bloody meddling woman! Why can't she just leave me alone!_

Snape arrived in the Great Hall ten minutes after breakfast had begun, hoping that all the other staff members (well, Hermione in particular) would have already taken their seats, allowing him to arrange himself as far away from potential embarrassment as possible. However, when he got there, he saw that Hermione had not yet arrived. Fortuitously, however, there _was_ a single seat available between Professor Sprout and Professor Vector, which he silently slid into, ignoring both the startled looks the two witches gave him and the Yuletide salutations offered by the other teachers.

Not thirty seconds after he had sat down, an owl flapped in through the high mullioned windows and dropped a card into his coffee. He snapped it up with a scowl and hastily turned it over.

_To Prof. S. Snape:_

_A year's subscription to the _Journal of Magical Inquiry_ has been reserved in your name by Prof. H. Granger. Please allow up to six weeks for the first issue to arrive. _

_Best wishes,_

_U. Dinglethorne_

_Subscriptions Manager_

He glanced right and left to ascertain whether either of his neighbors were trying to poke their noses into his mail, but Professor Sprout was chatting with Professor Grubbly-Plank, and Professor Vector was mopping up coffee from where she had spilt it down the front of her robe.

_Chocolates and a gift subscription. It seems she is trying to ingratiate herself into my life. Enough is enough. I shall have to put a stop to this once and for all. It will make for an unpleasant scene, but that cannot be avoided._

This time, every time the door opened, it was Snape who glanced up, as stealthily as possible, to see whether it was Hermione entering. It never was, and it wasn't until Professor Sprout, a notoriously slow eater, pushed her chair back and bid Snape a Happy Christmas on her way out, that he realized he had actually sat there for a solid hour, worrying his stomach on the way to an ulcer, for something that wasn't going to happen. Hermione had not come down to breakfast. He didn't know what annoyed him more: that, or the fact that he had wasted so much time dreading her appearance. For, certainly, it had been dread that he had been feeling. Not anticipation. Certainly not. He left the cold remains of his coffee in his cup and stalked back down to his lair.

...xOxOxOx...

It did not escape Severus' notice that Hermione did not show up for lunch, either. Once again safely ensconced between the Herbologist and the Arithmatician, he nevertheless was growing increasingly piqued by her continued absence. He recalled what Lupin had said about her worrying that he, Snape, was ill, and now wondered himself whether _she_ was ill. If so, surely Lupin was taking care of it. Snape leaned forward just enough to catch a glimpse of the Defense instructor, who was smiling and chatting with the Headmistress. Neither of them appeared to be in the least concerned by the fact that Hermione wasn't there.

He sat back in his chair and scowled. Not only was she able to ruin a meal by her presence, but she could do it by her absence as well. And this was a particularly delectable spread.

Pomona actually made a stab at small talk, perhaps encouraged by the fact that he had chosen to sit beside her for two meals in a row, but he merely grunted in answer and generally refused to hold up his end of the conversation, and she quickly retreated. He did wonder about the presents, though. Finally, steeling himself, he turned to her.

"Pomona," he said stiffly, feeling like an utter fool, "I forgot to thank you for the...plant."

"Oh!" she started, completely taken aback that he had actually initiated a conversation with her. "Why-- You're welcome, Severus. I gave one to every member of the staff. Just a little something to brighten up these winter days. The Everfragrant, you know--"

"Yes, a remarkable species," he interrupted her, recognizing the telltale signs of runaway chatter in the offing. "Filius's Kringles are certainly a perennial favorite, wouldn't you say?" He politely awaited her reply.

_Somewhere, one of my ancestors is turning in his grave at this flagrant display._

Pomona blinked twice. No, three times. The shock of Severus Snape asking for someone else's opinion sat deep. "Oh yes," she said upon recovering, "just the thing for a little nosh. And I think I could get used to Miss Granger's-- I mean, Hermione's, I just can't seem to get used to her being a professor-- her chocolates. Muggle, I believe, but just heavenly."

_So the chocolates were for everyone. The subscription, too?_

He found himself actually feeling disappointment that Hermione hadn't singled him out for anything special, and that made him even more annoyed. "I suppose, if one has a taste for such confections. Anything else?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Anything else," he hissed impatiently, now too cross to bother with subtlety. "What else did you get?"

Pomona looked at him with round eyes, clearly at a loss as to what to make of the fact that the Potions Master was acting like a six-year-old child, demanding to know what she had gotten for Christmas. However, she obediently recited, "A bottle of scotch from Minerva, tickets to a football match from Angelina, a hat from Diane--" here she nodded at the Care of Magical Creatures instructor on her left, who was also listening in, "--and...and a book from Remus." She stared at Severus in a defensive manner. "That's all."

Snape narrowed her eyes at her. Was she really not forgetting a second gift from Hermione? He didn't want to come right out and ask, as that would have drawn too much attention to the point of his inquiry, so he let it go at that. That probably was all. It would have been a bit too much for Hermione to distribute chocolates _and_ subscriptions to all the professors. The subscription must have been for him alone, based on his evinced interest in the article the previous day. Well, that was all right then, he thought grudgingly. A subscription to a serious journal could be considered thoughtful, but not significant. But that still didn't answer the question of her whereabouts. Remembering the issue which she had loaned to him, he decided to return it to her this afternoon. Not as an excuse to check on her, of course. Simply as a matter of courtesy. And to remove from his presence any and all reminders of her.

...xOxOxOx...

Snape stalked up the stairs of Gryffindor Tower, with every step gaining a firmer conviction that he should turn around on the spot and retreat as quickly as possible.

_What in the world am I doing here? I'm starting to act just like her, seeking her out in her quarters on flimsy pretenses...Oh ho! That must be just what she is hoping for! She is staying away in order to lure me up here. Oh no you don't, Miss Granger! _

He hurriedly turned heel to go back to the staircase when he heard a male voice call, "Severus! What brings you to our corner of the castle?"

_Lupin! He's probably in cahoots with her, been lurking around just in order to catch me out and make fun of me._

"None of your business, Lupin," Snape spat over his shoulder, already at the top of the steps.

"If you were looking for Hermione, she's not here," Lupin called after him.

Snape stopped. He snapped his head around in Remus' direction. "I was just going to return this periodical to her, if you must know," he said coldly.

Remus closed the distance between them, his hands in his pockets. "Is that the one with her article on the Goblin Laws?"

Snape frowned and looked at the magazine in his hand. "She's been published in here?"

"Oh yes," Lupin replied matter-of-factly. "Several times. And not just in there." He stood next to Snape now and leaned over to look at the cover. "No, that's the most recent issue. She hasn't got anything in that one. Interesting article on the Dual Strain Theory, though. Did you read it?"

"Yes, I--" _Damn, he almost tricked me into a conversation. _"That doesn't matter," he muttered. "Here." He thrust the magazine at Lupin. "You can give it to her when she returns." _Where is she, anyway? I'll be damned if I'm going to ask._

Lupin kept his hands in his pockets. "Oh, no, I'm sure she'd prefer it if you returned it to her in person." He managed to make the suggestion sound perfectly innocent. "She should be back before dinner. Just went to her parents' for the day."

"Hrmgph," Snape grunted. Parents. Hermione had parents. Parents that she actually visited on holidays. Some people's lives were apparently still intact.

"I'll be sure to mention that you were looking for her, though," Lupin said cheerfully.

Snape gave him the darkest look he could muster, turned his back, and descended the stairs with as much spite in his step as he could.

He was just crossing the Entrance Hall when the main doors swung open, letting in a swell of cold air and a well-bundled witch. She threw back the hood of her cloak, revealing a tangle of brown hair. Sudden indecision gripped him. Continue toward the dungeons? Give the journal back now? He who hesitates loses his initiative, however, and as soon as Hermione's eyes lighted on him, she smiled. Not in an overexcited manner, but warmly. With perhaps a little shyness. Or was it nervousness?

"Severus, how nice to see you. Have you had a happy Christmas?" She walked toward him, shaking out her cloak and hanging it over her arm.

"It has been similar to every other Christmas," he stated stiffly. That was in fact a broadly true statement.

"That's nice. I'm just back from my parents'." She ran a hand over her hair, pulling it back from her face. "Hoods always put it in a rat's nest," she said ruefully, then silently berated herself for talking about her hair to him.

"Mm," he said noncommittally, running his eye over the mop on her head, which did look more tangled than usual.

"Oh, I see you've still got the journal." She pointed at the periodical in his hand. "Enjoying it?"

"I was just going to return it to you." He held it out to her.

She took it with her free hand. "I'm uh...just on my way up to my room." _Obviously, Hermione,_ she thought, rolling her eyes to herself. _Brilliant_. "Do you want to come up? Maybe you could tell me what you thought of that Dual Strain article."

"It was...interesting," he conceded.

"Do you have any particular opinion in the Single versus Dual Strain debate?" She seemed genuinely interested, not just making small talk.

"I...admit I tend to favour the Single Strain Theory."

"Really?" She took a step toward the stairs leading up to Gryffindor Tower. "Come on, tell me while we walk. I need to change out of these wet boots." She inclined her head invitingly toward the stairs.

Severus leaned his upper body barely perceptibly toward the stairs, but it was enough for Hermione to be certain of him. She started walking, talking over her shoulder. "I admit I'm tending toward the Single Strain Theory myself, but I'm no expert..." Without looking back, she listened for the sound of his boots on the flagstones following her.

_Great Merlin, but she's getting good at manipulation. That was rather an elaborate plan, planting the journal before me yesterday, opened to an article she knew would grab my interest...(How did she know that?)...Then luring me upstairs like this._

"The Dual Strain Theory has its points, of course, but it just doesn't make sense to me that there would be two distinct strains of magical energy with measurably different physical properties," Hermione was saying as she marched upstairs. "I mean, wouldn't they require different wands then? Or different methods of tapping into altogether?"

Snape lengthened his stride to catch up to Hermione, then slowed down again, keeping one step beneath her. "A point which has been convincingly argued by DeVenefice."

"Oh, what was that in? I'm not really up on the issue, I just read whatever I happen to pick up."

"A lecture I attended a few years ago," he replied vaguely, taking clinical note of the curve of her bottom as it moved beneath her robes. "Perhaps he also published it somewhere, I must admit I also haven't had the time to keep abreast of the field." _Or do much of anything but sit around feeling sorry for myself. Pathetic._

"What do you keep up on, then? Other than Potions, of course."

"This and that. So you have also published in that journal?"

Hermione paused, as much to catch her breath as anything. One would think that after all her years of running up and down these stairs, her cardiovascular system would have reaped some benefit. "A couple of things," she said modestly. "I think the last one was this summer. 'Revisiting the Goblin Laws of 1760'. I don't expect you'll have read it." She grinned impishly.

Snape had stopped on the step below her. He took note of the fact that their heads, or more specifically, their faces, or more specifically, their mouths, were now at very nearly the same level. He would just have to lean forward a little bit--

Hermione had also noticed that fact. Her heart started pounding, and not just because of the stairs. She studied the wedge of his face visible between the two sheaves of black hair curving down from his scalp. She'd never been this close to him before, not in good light anyway, and now she could see the two little lines between his eyebrows, engraved there by his continual scowl. Also the fine, faint whitish lines on his cheeks, possibly scar tissue, that gave his face a drawn appearance. She noticed him studying her, too, and suddenly felt very self-conscious. Added to the fact that her last attempt at kissing him had not ended very well, she decided that now was not the moment, and asked rather abruptly, "Have you published anything recently?" She turned quickly, feeling her cheeks burning, and continued up the stairs. "I'm sorry, but I don't really pay much attention to the world of Potions."

_Well, now, she's darted away like a scared rabbit. It seems I have put her off me after all. Of course, that's what I wanted to do. So why does it feel like someone has snatched away my breath?_

They had arrived at the entrance to Hermione's rooms, a simple bound oak door. She undid the wards and went in first, leaving the door open for Severus to follow her. "Have a seat wherever," she said lightly, "I'll be right there." She disappeared through another door, lighting the fire in the grate with a flick of her wand as she passed it.

Severus remaining standing near the door, which he closed, and looked around. The stone floor was covered with a woven blue-and-green rug with a vaguely floral design. The walls were all clean and dry, and the white cement between the stones was immaculate. A piece of modern magical artwork hung on one wall, flowing like a two-dimensional lava lamp. Before the fire stood a comfortable-looking yellow sofa, flanked on either side by matching armchairs that invited one to swing one's legs over the side and lean back with a good book. A desk before the single large window looking out over the Forbidden Forest supported neat stacks of papers and bundles of parchment. Several items of furniture were devoted to housing the small library that Hermione had accumulated. A square table was tucked against one wall, with a blue tablecloth over it and three chairs around it. The Everfragrant was set in the middle, the Kringle tin beside it with the lid half-way off.

_Does Lupin spend time in here? Most certainly he does. Does he sit at the table? In one of the armchairs? Does he even have a favorite armchair? Or do he and Hermione sit together on the sofa with his arm around her the way they sit during Quidditch matches? Although they have both assured me that there is nothing between them, I do not like the memory or even the notion of his hands on her._

Snape's chest seemd to constrict as he came to an icy realization:

_I do not like Lupin putting his hands on Hermione. Not just because it is revolting to me to see Lupin putting his paws on any female, but because _I_ want to put _my_ hands on her. _

At that moment, Hermione returned, her hair pulled back in a loose bun and her feet ensconced in thick fuzzy black socks. She had removed her outer robes and was now wearing a periwinkle blue shift that hung loosely down to her ankles. A yellow cat with nearly as much hair as she slunk in behind her and eyed Snape with suspicion, then jumped up onto the nearest armchair and hunkered down to watch the proceedings.

"You can sit down, you know," Hermione said. "Can I get you some tea? I'm chilled through to the bone."

While she went to a cupboard and set about making tea, Snape sat down heavily on one of the chairs at the blue-decked table.

_Of all the bloody nuisances. And? What is to be done? _

Absently, he conjured himself a cup and his own preferred blend of black tea. He had just finished filling the cup with steaming water from his wand when Hermione set down a tray on the table.

"Oh," she said, a little flustered on noticing his cup. "You've got your own."

Snape started out of his reverie. "Yes," he agreed, realizing the social faux pas he had just committed but refusing to admit it. He did take a squeeze of lemon from her tray, though, now watching her with guardedly predatory eyes.

Hermione sat down on the chair opposite him. Going well so far, she thought, better than any other encounter they'd had thus far. Just keep it up, don't scare him off. Keep it light and friendly.

"You were telling me about some of your recent work?" she prompted, stirring sugar into her tea, the butterflies in her stomach being set aflutter by his penetrating stare.

"Was I?" He seemed preoccupied.

_So if she is not trying to make anyone jealous, what is she up to? _

Hermione lifted her cup to her mouth, hiding behind it for a moment. As the porcelain rim touched her lips, she recalled the feeling of his kisses there, the taste of his breath in her mouth. She swallowed. "Do you have any special projects that you're working on? Research?"

He briefly considered being evasive, then answered flatly, "No."

_Leave it to her to dig out all of my weak points. Not that there is any lack of them._

Hermione blinked, feeling that she had embarrassed him yet again. "Oh. I just thought...you used to do a lot of experimentation. Invention."

He raised an eyebrow. "Did I?"

"Yes, well I just assumed...I don't know if you ever knew it, but Harry got your old Potions text in our sixth year."

"I do recall something of the sort."

"It was full of your notes, improvements on the recipes and procedures. Even some new spells."

"I dabbled."

"You were brilliant! I mean, I always thought Harry was cheating by using your notes--not that we knew they were from you, he probably wouldn't have used them if he'd known--" She stopped short, fearful that she was about to provoke an anti-Potter rant.

"No," Snape allowed himself a smile, "he probably wouldn't have."

She breathed a mental sigh of relief and continued, "So he kept trouncing everyone at Potions, even me."

"Imagine that," Snape said wryly.

Hermione allowed herself a quick smile back at him. "It did get up my nose."

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "You always wanted to be the best."

_She was the best. Truly brilliant in her research and methods, both in her schoolwork and in tracing the Horcruxes. Such a waste that she chose to devote herself to a dead subject like History of Magic._

"And I always was," Hermione said cheekily, "until the Half-Blood Prince anyway."

Snape's face became momentarily hard again. "I haven't heard that term in...decades."

_Has it been so long? And at the same time no longer than that?A world removed._

Hermione, caught up in her own role in the story, missed the subtle change in his demeanor. "I was the one who figured out it was you," she said proudly. "I found a picture of your mother in an old yearbook, and then your parents' wedding announcement in a back issue of the Daily Prophet."

"Ever resourceful." Instead of being complimentary, though, his voice had a bitter edge.

Now she noticed that something had displeased him. _It must be something about his parents, _she thought, _or that he thinks me nosy for poking about in his past._ "The point is," she continued hastily, getting back to her original argument, "you were obviously brilliant at Potions when you were in school. Well, you still are, otherwise you wouldn't be teaching here. So I just assumed, I mean...that you would have continued, making improvements on old methods, researching."

Snape sat back in his chair and ran his fingers around the rim of his cup. "I did. For a time. Then I got caught up in...events...other things took priority..."

Again, Hermione was eager to move him past the unpleasant memories, especially now that she was more certain than ever what at least some of those memories were. "And now? I mean, now you're-- you'd be free to dabble again, as you call it."

"Now...it's been too long. I am no longer the same man I was then."

_There is no spark of creativity. No lust for knowledge. No desire to design new ways of inflicting physical pain. I've seen enough of that to last many a lifetime. _

Hermione once again felt an overwhelming sadness, both for the man before her and for the potential that had been lost to the wizarding world.

They were both silent for a while, lost in their own thoughts. Hermione wanted desperately to say something positive, to comfort, but she held back, fearful of pushing too hard again. Then, abruptly, Snape cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Well. I should be getting back."

_To what? Emptiness? Darkness? Brooding?_

"Oh," Hermione said, trying not to show her disappointment. "OK. Thank you for coming up. I enjoyed talking with you."

He nodded curtly, evaporated his cup with a wave of his wand, and stood.

She followed suit. "Um...maybe we could do it again sometime? You know...just talk." She accompanied him to the door.

"Perhaps," he allowed.

She stood by him at the door and hesitated a moment. "Severus...?"

He looked at her then and saw her asking, hoping, searching for a sign.

_'She's waiting for a sign,' Lupin said. It would be so easy to give in, both to her and to my own inclination, but it would be no more than an illusion, a momentary indulgence. My past has already ruined my future. I have destroyed enough. I don't need her misery adding to my own. Since when am I so scrupulous? What would be the difference between this and my transactions in Lurker's Lane? She said herself that she is an adult. She's been warned and would only have herself to blame. Because she would be hurt in the end. But she also said that she believes that I am an honorable man. _

Hermione saw only Severus' frown. Was he annoyed at her for holding him up? Apprehensive that she might try to kiss him again? Although she wasn't about to throw herself at him, she also didn't want him to think that she had entirely given up. She reached out and took his hand gently. "Happy Christmas."

And then it was simple and natural. Hardly considering what he was doing, Severus leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek, the smooth curve of her skin soft beneath his lips. "Happy Christmas," he repeated in her ear. Then without looking at her, he opened the door and walked out.


	13. Chapter 13 The Forest

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_AN: Whew! Good to know I'm not evil anymore...A little more lighthearted in this one. Grape alert (scroll to the end if you can't wait, although it might make more sense if you read the rest of the chapter first)._

**CHAPTER 13**

**The Forest**

During the remainder of that last week of holidays, Hermione took to regularly sitting beside Severus at meals, although never attempting to talk to him beyond a simple greeting. She understood that he preferred to dine alone, or, barring that, in silence. For her part, she was pleased that he seemed to accept this arrangement; perhaps he even welcomed it, as he started to return her "good morning" with a mumbled "good morning" of his own, rather than his usual grunt.

One morning, Hagrid showed up at the breakfast table, wearing a great bearskin overcoat and leaving huge muddy footprints on the floor behind Hermione's chair.

"Hey, Hermione! Yeh want ter come with me inter the Forest? Only I got ter collect some specimens fer Professor Grubbly-Plank an' Professor Sprout, an' I thought mebbe yeh'd like ter get away from the castle fer a bit." Here he gave the back of Snape's head a dark look.

Snape turned slowly to fix Hagrid with a baleful glare. "On a day like this? It has to be near freezing out there."

"Nobody's asking yeh, Professor," Hagrid growled menacingly.

Snape raised an eyebrow at Hermione, but silently returned to his breakfast.

Hermione glanced at the gray sky through the windows; it did look cold and dreary and just not the kind of day she wanted to spend trudging through the mud, trying to keep up with Hagrid and avoid being trampled, eaten, or shot. She was about to beg off when she looked into his oversized face, full of eager anticipation, and knew she didn't have the heart to say no.

"All right, Hagrid," she said, forcing herself to sound enthusiastic, "it'll do me good to get some fresh air."

Hagrid beamed, glancing triumphantly at Snape's back. "Tha's wha' I thought. All work an' no play, yeh know!"

Hermione grimaced and stood. "It's all right," she said to Snape, and then added, jokingly, "If I'm not back by lunch, send out the St. Bernards!"

Snape grumbled something inaudible and scowled into his coffee cup.

...xOxOxOx...

The ground was a mixture of ice and mud, the snow from the previous week having melted and re-frozen in patches. Hagrid tromped happily over the dead branches and smaller bushes, his huge boots squelching and leaving holes the size of small toboggans for Hermione to skirt or jump over.

"Hagrid," Hermone called, "are we looking for anything special? Anything I should keep an eye out for?"

"Ach, I'll know when I see it," he called back cheerfully. "Don't yeh worry 'bout it. Jus' enjoy the scenery!"

Hermione glanced around at the bare, black trees, the piles of brown sludge, the tangles of thorny brambles, and the mysterious dark places in the distance, and scrunched her chin down further into her muffler. Although it was cold out, her exertions at keeping up with Hagrid were keeping her reasonably warm. Only her fingers were resisting all efforts from her circulatory system to pump warmth into them.

"Ah! Here we go," Hagrid finally exclaimed, after they had been wandering in what seemed to Hermione to be circles for about half an hour. "Knew it was around here somewhere." He hunkered down on his haunches and examined what looked to be a dead stick about half a metre long poking up out of the muck.

Hermione came up next to him and regarded the stick. "What is it?" she asked skeptically.

"Dead Man's Finger," Hagrid replied, frowning and peering at it.

Hermione jumped back, catching her cloak on some thorny bracken. "But aren't those--" she asked in horror.

"Yeah, but don' worry. They're perfec'ly harmless in winter. Saw it back in November, but I wasn't sure if it weren't still active, so I thought it'd be better ter leave it till the ground froze. When I mentioned it ter Professor Sprout, she seemed mighty keen ter get it fer her students. Well, here goes. Keep yer wand ready, will yeh? I'm jus' goin' ter see if it's dormant."

Hermione hastily fumbled with her cold fingers for her wand and held it out, pointed at the Finger. If it wasn't fully in its dormant phase yet, it would grab onto Hagrid as soon as he touched it and attempt to pull him under the earth. Just based on size, it didn't look like Hagrid would have a problem holding his own, but Dead Man's Fingers had been known to bring down horses within a matter of seconds, so she wasn't going to take any chances, and, it seemed, neither was Hagrid.

Hagrid stuck out one of his thick fingers and tentatively touched the tip of the plant. It quivered, but remained stiffly in place. He touched it again, more firmly. Nothing happened. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and lowered her wand.

"Yep," Hagrid announced with a satisfied nod, "like I thought. Well, have a seat or summat, this'll likely take me a bit to dig 'er out." He fished around in the large burlap sack he had brought along and got out a shovel.

Hermione looked around for 'summat', since there wasn't anything that looked remotely like a seat. Her eye alit on a rotting log lying half-buried under a pile of frozen foliage. Not very inviting, but with a quick Transformation... She had already begun the incantation when Hagrid looked up, alarmed.

"No, Hermione, don'--!"

Hermione finished the spell and the log straightened itself out into a short bench. She looked at Hagrid, wondering what had rattled him. The Transformation had gone fine. Then she felt something plucking at her skirt. Thinking she was just caught up on the bracken again, she gave it a tug, but it wouldn't release.

"Quick, Hermione, change it back!" Hagrid urged, jumping to his feet and rushing over to tear at the bush with his bare hands.

"What--?" Hermione now saw the nearest tree swinging its branches slowly toward her, blindly groping. The thorny plant was quickly reeling in her skirt, knocking her off balance.

"Yeh can't use magic against the Forest, Hermione!" Hagrid shouted. "Change it back, now!"

Quickly grasping his meaning, Hermione swished her wand to reverse the Transformation she had done on the log. The wood sank smoothly back into its previous form and settled once again on the foliage. She stared at Hagrid with round eyes, her breath coming in short gasps.

"What did I do?" she asked fearfully.

"Yeh used magic ter change summat that belongs ter the Forest. It sensed that an' tried ter protect itself." He ripped her skirt free of the bracken, which was now still and stiff again.

"But we've used magic in the Forest lots of times," she said. "It's never reacted like that before."

"Yeh've never used magic _against_ the Forest before," he corrected her.

She shook her head. "I wasn't attacking the Forest; I just wanted to make a bench. And you've cut down plenty of trees, and nothing ever happened to you."

"The Forest understands 'bout chopping down trees. Tha's nature. Heck, if some trees didn' get thinned out, the Forest'd choke itself to death. But the Forest don' take kindly to magic bein' used against it. An' I know, you didn' mean any harm, but the Forest isn't so smart. Kinda like centaurs," he continued in a conspiratorial whisper, looking around carefully. "They don' differentiate between good magic an' bad magic. To them, all human magic is bad."

Hermione nodded, well remembering how the centaur herd that lived in the Forest had reacted to witches, wizards, and even Hagrid coming into their midst. All the same, she remarked, "That's something they didn't mention in _Hogwarts, A History_."

"Well," Hagrid said, exhaling heavily. "Why don' yeh sit on this here--" he tossed the burlap sack down onto the log "--until I've got that Finger there dug out."

Hermione eyed the log warily. "If it's all the same to you, Hagrid, I think I'd rather stand."

"Suit yerself," he shrugged. He picked up his shovel and started hacking away at the semi-frozen ground around his booty. "Got ter be sure not ter damage the body," he grunted.

Hermione nodded again. The Dead Man's Finger was, like the tip of an iceberg, the smallest part of the organism. Below ground was a nodule, called 'the body', which could grow up to two metres in diameter. This one was likely much smaller, given the size of its above-ground extremity. Still, it would be a while before Hagrid was able to exhume it.

As they had so often in recent days, Hermione's thoughts drifted eagerly to Severus. As she had spent more time with him and found out more about him, her opinions of him had drastically altered. First of all, still uppermost in her mind, was his status before and during the war. She had found out much now about his involvement with the Death Eaters, some of it admittedly contrary to what her original impressions had been. She had had a romanticized notion of him infiltrating Voldemort's inner circle as a sort of observer, being privy to the the Dark Lord's most secret plans for no reason other than that he was a dab hand at potions (if she had even thought so far as to come up with a reason for his being in Voldemort's favor), and hiding his true feelings and loyalties from that most skilled of Legilimens. But the truth was turning out to be much more complicated, and not very pretty.

For Lord Voldemort had certainly demanded signs and proof from his followers of their fealty. Snape would have had to participate in activities which might have ranged from simply distasteful (brewing and perhaps administering Dark potions) to downright evil (torture and killings). He must have been particularly effective at whatever it was that he did, in order to work his way into Voldemort's inner circle. And one of those things had apparently been the murder of Albus Dumbledore. For no matter how Hermione tried to turn the facts over in her head, the inescapable conclusion was that Severus had performed the Killing Curse. With Dumbledore's permission, to be sure, or even under duress, but he had performed it nevertheless of his own free will. The only way Hermione could explain the fact that he had escaped Azkaban was that members of the Order sitting on the Wizengamot (Minerva sprang immediately to mind) had pulled strings on his behalf, knowing that he had only acted as he had for the greater good.

Severus was not proud of what he had done, however, quite the contrary. He was pained and guilt-ridden, that much Hermione had been able to deduce from the responses he had given and from his actions. It seemed there was no way in which he could redeem himself, not even in his own eyes. Hermione, also, recoiled from the knowledge of Severus' role in Dumbledore's death, but was slowly coming to terms with the seemingly inescapable fact of it. And while she rejected the act itself as despicable, no matter its justifications, oddly enough, it deepened her regard for the perpetrator. For it would have taken an enormous inner strength to stand up and carry out Dumbledore's wishes. Draco hadn't been able to do it, even with the threat of death (not only his, but his parents' as well) at the hands of the Death Eaters behind it.

Strength. Severus was strong. That was the trait which Hermione found she admired most in him. He stood alone, didn't rely on others, didn't care about their opinion of him. For if he did, surely he would have made the circumstances known under which he had operated. He was physically strong, deceptive in his leanness. She knew full well that he could run circles around her without so much as breaking a sweat. He also had an incredibly strong mind. Being able to survive for years under Voldemort's constant pressure on him was proof of that, if nothing else. His intellect was unsurpassed; Hermione had to admit that he was more intelligent even than she, at least as far as inventiveness and creativity went. Her intellectual strengths lay elsewhere, in memory and precision, although he might be able to give her a run for her money there, too. And magic. A ferocious magic flowed through his veins, which it seemed he was almost ashamed to let show, so great was its power. In addition to which, he was still young, had not reached the prime of his magical ability, so that barring unforeseen events, he would become more powerful still. All in all, an incredibly potent combination, which no one but Hermione had even begun to appreciate.

And that appreciation wasn't just an academic exercise. Perhaps it was due to her eyes being opened to the complexity of the man, perhaps it was an attraction to the power she was seeing in him, perhaps a matter of simple chemistry, but Severus Snape had become a man worth pursuing.

"Eh, there it is," Hagrid said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. The great bulbous gray 'body' lay exposed now, its 'finger' pointing adamantly heavenward. "Get the sack ready, there."

Hermione picked up the burlap bag and brought it over to Hagrid, holding the mouth open as far as she could. Hagrid knelt down in the mud and, putting both hands as far underneath the body as he could reach, heaved the mass out and into the sack with a thud.

"Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" Hagrid beamed at Hermione. She nodded weakly.

He stood, heaving the sack over his shoulder. "Now to find those Libella."

Hermione followed resignedly behind Hagrid, ready for another half-hour of aimless wandering in search of the cocoons in which the giant insects spent their winter torpor.

...xOxOxOx...

_What she sees in that half-breed giant I shall never understand. I could fathom Potter's affection for him as the one who rescued him from those dismal Muggles, but why she persists in maintaining friendly contact with him now that Potter is gone, is simply beyond me. Accompanying him into the Forbidden Forest on a day like today, or any day for that matter, simply 'to get a breath of fresh air' goes above and beyond good manners. He's more likely to get them into danger than out of it. _

_Where are they, anyway? Lunch was served ten minutes ago and they still aren't back. Ah, here comes Moony. Perhaps she is with him... No? How irksome. _

_Hermione, what to make of you? In turns intrusive, then thoughtful; infuriating, then endearing. At times I want nothing more than to erase every memory of her from my mind, at others I crave thoughts of her. An attachment of any sort is of course out of the question. She is perhaps too young and inexperienced to realize it. Not that there is no attraction there. Physically, certainly, there can be no denying that, but the body is fickle, ruled by whimsy and instinct, treacherous if not mastered. Her mind, too, is far from simple, and in the past few months I have begun to appreciate how cunning and adaptable she is. And the things she remembers... of course, her youth is much more recent for her than mine is for me...and her memories much more pleasant than mine...for the most part. Although she has suffered, too. She is always analyzing, comparing, combining, weighing options. Not always making the wisest choices, however. The folly of youth? Or a character flaw? Albus would have said it was a strength to follow one's heart, even if it led to heartache. Gryffindor foolishness. Heartache comes no matter what choices one makes._

Snape grimly picked at his steak and chips, alternately trying not to be concerned about Hermione's whereabouts and cursing himself for letting such a trivial matter occupy his mind.

_Blast! They're already a half-hour late. Look at Moony, tearing into his steak, oblivious. And he purports to care about her. They could have been attacked by those xenophobic half-breeds, the centaurs; Hermione may have gotten out of (and into) many a scrape with the help of Potter's boundless luck and Weasley's bumbling bravado, but I'm not sure if even she could outwit a band of armed centaurs. Although there was that incident with Umbridge, if I recall correctly... There, Lupin's finished and strolling out as if he didn't have a care in the world!_

Snape tossed his napkin down onto his half-finished steak and chips and got up, cutting Remus off just before he reached the staff door.

"They're not back yet," he snarled.

Remus blinked. "Who's not back yet?"

"That half-breed gamekeeper and Her-- Professor Granger!" Snape snapped.

Realizing what he meant, Remus suppressed a smile. "Oh, I wouldn't worry. Hagrid wouldn't let anything happen."

Snape glanced back at the staff table, aware that Professor McGonagall was now looking over at them. "She said they'd be back by lunch, and they're not!" he hissed in a lowered voice.

"I'm really not sure what you expect me to do," Remus replied. "If they're not back by nightfall, I might begin to get concerned. Until then... Maybe you should check in Hagrid's hut. They're probably reminiscing over old times." He grinned cheekily at Snape and left.

_Of all the presumtuous, smart-alecky... I bloody well will not go running after her! If he can wait, so can I!_

...xOxOxOx...

Hermione made her way back up to the castle, happy about the results of the morning. On the way to the Libella cocoons, she had noticed a patch of hellebore blooming in the humus. Knowing that hellebore is an important ingredient in many potions, she decided to pick them for Severus. Thus inspired, she had kept an eye out and found witch hazel flowers, holly and pyracantha berries, and long strips of peeling birch and maple bark, and now she had quite a little collection to deposit with the Potions Master.

Hagrid had imposed on her to stay for lunch, since he didn't like dining at the castle more often than necessary. A combination of melancholy over Dumbledore's death and the, to him, intolerable presence of the former Headmaster's killer. Hermione hadn't even tried to reason with him. The fine distinction of whose orders Snape had acted upon would be lost on her large friend.

Eager to get the specimens to Severus while they were still fresh, Hermione hurried down the stairs and checked first in his classroom, then, finding it locked, went to the now-familiar ashwinder trophy.

"Severus? It's me, I have some things for you."

Not three seconds later, the wall swung inward, revealing a very out of sorts Potions Master.

"What happened to you?" he barked, immediately taking in her torn skirt.

Hermione looked down at her clothes. She had completely forgotten about that. "What? Oh, that," she laughed. "The Forest got me. Didn't have time to fix it yet."

"The Forest got you? What the hell do you mean by that?" His eyes were dark as storm clouds.

"There's no need to swear, honestly, aren't you going to invite me in? I have some goodies in here for you." She lifted the linen bag which Hagrid had loaned her and shook it invitingly.

Snape stood aside and Hermione entered, immediately going over to the table and setting the bag down for him to examine the contents.

"Look, I found hellebore and witch hazel blooms, oh, they're already starting to wilt, you'd better dry them quick, and here are some holly and pyracantha berries. And here's some bark--" she lifted a curling strip of cinnamon-brown out of the bag and turned to show it to Snape, but he was right behind her, grabbing her shoulders, pressing his mouth onto hers, fiercely, proprietarily, taking her breath away.

"Don't you ever do something like that again," he said a moment later, his voice rich with threat and desire.

Hermione was caught completely off guard. That had been one hell of a kiss. What had just happened? She searched his face, looking for a clue as to his behaviour, but again there was no trace of tenderness that she could detect, just displeasure. "Severus, what...?"

He kneaded her shoulders, his fingers pressing into her flesh. Gods, that felt so good... She dropped the bark and slid her hands onto his back, clutching the heavy fabric of his robes and feeling the tautness of his waist underneath them.

"Don't make me worry about you. I don't like it." His voice was low and many-layered and made the hairs on her arms stand erect.

"But you knew where I was..." He had worried about her? Great gods in the heavens, Hermione felt like laughing for joy.

"I knew only that you were with that oaf Hagrid, blundering around in the most dangerous patch of land in a hundred kilometres, and that you hadn't returned when you said you would."

"Really, Severus, don't you think that you're getting a little bit carried away? After all, that oaf Hagrid is the best protection there is in a hundred kilometres. Nothing's ever happened to anyone when they were with him. Not that I mind the reception." She grinned and squeezed him around the waist.

_So this is all some great joke to her. She has no idea, is truly oblivious of the dangers around her._

He thrust her away and took several steps toward the fire. "You have no idea of the seriousness of what could have happened," he berated her, swishing his robes about himself.

"What, I know that there are dangerous things in the Forest. I was there, I know what happened, and you don't. Do you think I'm some child who can't judge situations for myself?"

He whirled around and fixed her with a penetrating dark look. "Yes."

Hermione snorted. "Really? And is that how you welcome back a _child_?"

Snape drew his robes tighter about himself. "Hermione-- You are making this quite impossible!"

"_I'm_ making this impossible? What, you mean this--" she motioned between the two of them, "this here? You're the one who can't seem to let anyone get close to you! There's something here, I know it, or there could be, anyway. I know that your past was horrible, I know that you did things that maybe you regret."

"You have no idea--" he began bitterly, but she interrupted, "Maybe not in the details, maybe you'll tell me someday, or maybe it's better that those things remain buried, I don't know, but I'll tell you that from what I do know, I admire and respect the person that you are today--"

"Pah," Snape spat.

"--And it makes me sad that you don't. I don't think you appreciate your own qualities, how much you have to offer."

They stared at each other, Snape bristling with discomfiture at what he had done, not willing either to ask her to leave or to soften his stance; Hermione silently pleading for some inkling of an idea as to how to salvage the situation, because this was clearly a breakthrough, and she didn't want to abandon it by leaving now.

Finally she sighed. "OK, Severus. Why don't we just get these ingredients properly preserved. Then my morning with Hagrid won't have been a complete waste." She picked up the bark from the table and replaced it in the bag, then held the bag out to him. "Come on, I don't know whether you want these dessicated or vacuum-packed or enfleuraged or what. Tell me and I'll help you." She waited, arm outstretched, watching him.

After an eternally long moment, Snape launched himself into motion. He stopped next to Hermione, closing his hand over hers on the bag. Her breath caught at the encircling warmth and the potency of his presence.

"I can accept your help in this matter, but in nothing more." It seemed to be a great effort for him to speak the words.

"All right," she whispered. It was a start.

_AN: I desperately wanted to avoid the cliche of Hermione becoming Snape's assistant in order to bring them together, so trust me, that's not what's going to happen. _

_Herbology: The Dead Man's Finger is mine. Hellebore and witch hazel do bloom in the winter, just as holly and pyracantha produce winter berries. Birch and maple trees naturally shed bark in the cold months._


	14. Chapter 14 The Trial

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_AN: Thanks to all of you who are faithful with reviews, and also to those who are just reading along. I know you're there, I can see you in the stats!_

_I just put one last little scene carried over from the previous chapter in here, because it felt unfinished. Also so you wouldn't go away totally hungry, because the rest is, unfortunately, grape-less. But read it anyway! It's important for the story.(Yes, there is also a story going on here!)_

**CHAPTER 14**

**The Trial**

Severus separated the ingredients which Hermione had brought and directed her which ones to dessicate; he apparently thought that was a simple enough procedure to entrust to her. She was done quickly and offered to help him with expressing the remainder of the berries, but he was already deeply preoccupied with a steam distillation procedure and waved her away.

She went to the door, then paused to watch him. He was bent over the distillation apparatus, thin strands of his black hair hanging straight down and nearly obscuring his face, but she could see the absolute concentration in the set of his jaw and fixedness of his stare. A master at work. Just as she was about to go, he raised his head and looked at her, holding her gaze long enough to cause her stomach to clench, sending slithering rays of pleasure up and down. Then, wordlessly, he lowered his head once more.

...xOxOxOx...

"Have a seat, Professor," Kingsley Shacklebolt said, indicating the long wooden table surrounded by stately chairs upholstered in black velvet. They were in what must usually serve as a conference room in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Which was appropriate, as this was a formal meeting.

Hermione took the one at the nearest corner. "Thank you." She smiled nervously at the handsome dark-skinned wizard, who took the seat at the foot of the table, catty-corner from her. "I appreciate you taking the time to see me," she continued.

"I'm not sure if I'm the right person for you to be talking to," Kingsley warned. "You said something about wanting information on a trial. That would be more in the line of the Wizengamot."

"No, I think you're the only one who can help," Hermione said firmly. "I'm interested in the trial of Severus Snape."

Kingsley hesitated a moment and frowned. "Which one?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to frown. "Is there more than one Severus Snape?"

Kingsley laughed at that, a hearty rippling chuckle. "No, thank the Lord, there isn't! I mean, which trial?"

Hermione's face lightened. Yes, true, Severus had also been put on trial after the first fall of Voldemort, but had been released when Dumbledore had vouched for him. "The last one. Something over five years ago."

Kingsley nodded, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "Ah. Yes, I did act as Professor Snape's advocate, in addition to interrogating him in the course of our investigation into his involvement in Albus' death. But I'm afraid I can't discuss that with you."

Frustration rose in Hermione's throat. "But why not?" she insisted. "The trial's over, the verdict reached, the sentence handed down. What harm can it possibly do for you to discuss it now? It won't change anything!"

A trace of impatience crossed the Auror's face. "I could say the same thing to you: Whatever you are seeking, it won't change anything. And, aside from the fact that the law requires me to treat information acquired in the course of an interrogation with the strictest confidentiality..." Kingsley's features softened and he said kindly, "I consider Severus a...friend...of sorts," he conceded. "The conversation we had while he was in custody covered subjects that he would consider personal. I have to, and do, respect that. Likewise, in my position as advocate, I could not reveal to you any information beyond that which was made public at the hearing."

While Hermione appreciated that one person, at least, was behaving loyally toward Severus and considering his feelings, her disappointment was evident.

Kingsley saw it and suggested, "Tell me, Professor, what you specifically hoped to discover. It may be that I can help you without going into what Professor Snape and I discussed."

Not sure where to start exactly, Hermione began with, "I know that Professor Dumbledore asked Professor Snape to end his life if the opportunity presented itself in a way that would cement Severus' position in Voldemort's inner circle. Dumbledore was going to die anyway, and he wanted his death to be useful. And maybe, I'm not sure, maybe he had him do it in order to protect Draco as well..." This last point had not come up in her conversation with Dumbledore's portrait, but it had occurred to her some time afterwards.

"That wasn't something that was brought into evidence at the trial," Kingsley said carefully. "Where did you hear that?"

"I spoke to the Headmaster's portrait. And Arthur Weasley sort of confirmed it to me as well."

Kingsley nodded. "In that case, I can confirm as well that the Order members heard the same story by the same means as you did. I assume that is what Arthur told you also."

"Yes, that's right. But that's not really what I was interested in. So I've got that part. What I'm confused about is, how come Severus was acquitted of having used an Unforgivable Curse? From everything I've heard, from Harry, and Arthur's recollection of the Death Eater witnesses' testimony, Severus _did_ use the Killing Curse against Professor Dumbledore. Yet he wasn't sent to Azkaban. Was it just favoritism?"

Kingsley regarded Hermione for quite a while. Then he slowly asked, in his deep, sonorous voice, "Why is it so important to you?"

Hermione had the feeling that he could see right through her. Maybe he could see more than she could. Why was it important? She was still clinging to the fragile hope that, perhaps, somehow, Severus was innocent. She had pretty much accepted that he had done it, but she just needed to be sure, absolutely certain. Only then could she fully accept it, and come closer to understanding what Severus had gone through and was still going through. And maybe her understanding would be the key to get her past Severus' barriers. But did she want to reveal all that? She was also very wary of breaking what Severus might consider a confidence. How would he feel, knowing that she had talked about his 'barriers' with Kingsley Shacklebolt? Yet she had the feeling that Kingsley knew something, that there was some information that hadn't come out yet, maybe one of those 'personal' things that he had mentioned.

Finally, after her own meditation, during which Kingsley had sat calmly waiting, she sat up straight, looked the Auror in the eye, and said, "I need to know in order to understand him."

He seemed to consider this briefly, then nodded once in acknowledgement. "I think, in that case, you might find it interesting to view the transcripts of the trial. Do you have time now?"

Hermione's heart leapt. Finally, she was going to get to the bottom of this!

...xOxOxOx...

Hermione sat down in the carrel. The lights were dimmed. It was quieter than any library she'd ever been in, and that was saying a lot. Perhaps the reason was that this was not a library of books and codices, but of memories, filed in glass bottles on slotted shelves. No rustling of parchments, no shuffling of papers, no scratching of quills. The tiny clink that sounded as Hermione unstoppered the bottle that Kingsley had arranged for her to be given resounded her ears. She poured the contents, milky and filamental, into the still liquid of the Pensieve on the small table before her, then stirred it with her wand. Feeling both nervous and excited, she dipped her face into the swirling surface.

She was in a courtroom. Beside her sat a young man, someone she didn't recognize, looking around alertly and taking notes. That must be the court transcriber, which would mean this was his memory she was viewing. The notes would be a safeguard against his memory being modified, and vice versa. Ranged on rising benches to the left of her were row upon row of spectators. She saw Arthur and Molly, Mad-Eye, Hestia, and many other Order members, looking startlingly young (had Molly gone that gray in just five years?), yet pinched and tense with worry. To the right were the members of the Wizengamot, an assembly of fifty witches and wizards in purple robes seated in a balcony overlooking the court. She spotted Minerva, sitting stiffly in the second row and staring straight ahead.

"Enter the accused," announced a cool voice from below. There was a small wave of sound as everyone turned to see a thin, black-clad figure enter through a side door with a burly wizard holding on to his elbow. Severus. Hermione's heart sank and tears of fury pricked at her eyes to see him like that. A prisoner. He held his head stiffly erect and, like Minerva, looked neither to the left nor the right. His wrists were bound before him with a glowing band. His cheeks were hollow, his hair tangled and clearly unwashed. The guard escorted him to the middle of the room and turned him to face the panel.

"The accused will state his name," intoned an elderly wizard sitting front and centre in the balcony. That must be the Chief Warlock, Hermione thought.

Severus tossed his hair back from his face with an almost haughty gesture. "Severus Snape."

"The accused may be seated."

The guard pushed Severus down onto the straight-backed arm chair and tapped the bond on the prisoner's wrists with his wand, causing it to dissolve. He then indicated that Severus should place his arms on the arm-rests. Hermione nearly cried out as the thick chains quickly slithered up over them, binding him in place. It was an outrage! As if he would try to escape or use magic against anyone there!

The Warlock spoke again, in a detached voice. "Severus Snape, you are accused of invoking the Killing Curse against Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore on the night of 17 June 1997 in the Astronomy Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hogsmeade, Scotland. How plead you?"

The accused did not respond.

"How plead you, Severus Snape," repeated the Warlock in an insistent tone.

Snape looked neither up nor down, neither right nor left. "I killed him." The statement was flat and clear. Emotionless.

Many of the spectators were nodding now, with grim expressions. Others, like Arthur, took the news stoically. Molly was the only one who hid her face in her hands.

Hermione, however, got the same exultant feeling of triumph that she did when she found a reference in a book that she'd been searching for for weeks. He didn't say he did the _Avada Kedavra_, she thought to herself. He didn't answer the Chief Warlock's question. Excitedly, she looked around to see if anyone else had noticed.

"That being the case--" began the elderly chief judge, but Minerva jerked to life and stood.

"Wait!" she commanded.

Even Severus looked up now, watching McGonagall along with everyone else. From where Hermione sat, he appeared to be glaring at her.

"What is it, Minerva," the Warlock asked, his irritation evident. "The accused has pled guilty to the charge. No further debate is necessary."

"The accused has the right to a fair hearing," Minerva said in a steely voice. "I submit the possibility that the accused is unaware of his actions, and is merely repeating what he has been told."

"We've already ruled out the _Imperius_, Minerva," the Chief Warlock snapped.

"Or the more distinct possibility that he is lying in order to uphold his reputation within the ranks of the outlawed organization called the Death Eaters," Minerva continued tartly.

How dare she say such a thing! Hermione fumed, gripping the edge of the bench with her fingers. She knows full well that Severus was loyal to the Order!

Severus was glaring even harder at Minerva. "I will testify under Veritaserum that I killed Albus Dumbledore!" he said coldly, and Hermione cringed at the cutting lack of emotion in that voice.

"Or," Minerva finished primly, "perhaps he is covering for someone else, trying to protect them. We cannot punish this man for a crime he did not commit, no matter whether he wishes it so." Here, she looked directly down at Snape and glared back, causing him to look away.

Hermione sat back and relaxed slightly. So she doesn't think he really did it, she thought. She thinks he's taking the blame for Draco. Her heart started pounding with hope. Was it really possible? Did Draco do it after all? Why had everyone said that Severus had done it, then? Harry: Maybe from Harry's position, if Draco and Severus had been lined up just right, it might have looked like the beam came from Snape's wand. Or perhaps both Draco and Severus had uttered the incantation at the same time, but Harry only heard Severus' voice, while only Draco's spell had hit the Headmaster. Possible. And Draco? Obviously, he would have leapt at an offer from Severus to take the fall for him, keep him out of Azkaban. That would fit in with him having defected right afterwards, in order to avoid prosecution as a Death Eater, never mind a killer. Finally, the Death Eaters, who would shortly be testifying against Severus. They might easily have lied in order to put Severus into Azkaban as revenge for him betraying their Master, knowing that he would be acquitted of the charge of being a Death Eater.

But now the Chief Warlock was speaking again. "Very well, Minerva," he sighed. "Severus Snape, you are hereby granted a hearing before this body to ascertain your guilt or innocence in the matter aforementioned."

"I do not wish a hearing," Severus said through clenched teeth.

"Nevertheless, you will have one," the Warlock admonished him. "Are we to understand, then, that you do not wish to defend yourself from the charge?"

"No."

"Very well." The Warlock looked around. "Is there anyone present who will act as the accused's advocate before the court?" Minerva looked especially tense, scanning the crowd. As a sitting member of the Wizengamot, she could not take over the post of advocate herself.

There was a stirring in the stands as people looked around, some curiously, others furtively. Arthur looked tentatively at Molly, but Hermione knew that it would be Kingsley Shacklebolt who would stand and say, "I will."

Snape narrowed his eyes at Kingsley and watched with apparent hostility as the Auror descended from the stands and came over to the chair where Snape was bound.

"Shacklebolt," the defendant hissed, and indicated that he should lean down. A short, inaudible exchange followed, and then Shacklebolt straightened up again.

"The accused refuses to testify. I should like to call in Alecto Carrow."

...xOxOxOx...

Three Death Eaters had testified. Hateful, unrepentant. Three identical stories had been told. Snarling. Arrogant. Dumbledore cornered, wandless. Draco hesitant, irresolute. And then the Curse. From Snape. Only Snape. Malfoy standing there, impotent. _Avada Kedavra_. And Dumbledore flying backward. Gone. The heavy-featured Death Eater, Jugson, had actually laughed at that point.

Hermione felt sick. Sick at their lies, or sick at the truth. This had been a waste of time; worse, a mistake. She should never have insisted on seeing this.

Now Kingsley was calling Draco to testify. The tall young man in the black robes looked as pale as bleached bone. His white-blond hair was long now, almost to his shoulders, and hung limply on either side of his face in a fair imitation of Snape. He glowered at the spectators, warlocks, and court officials. His eyes flicked over the prisoner, bound in the centre of the room, and Hermione could swear that his lip had curled. He stood so that he was between Snape and the judges' balcony, his shoulders hunched over and his arms crossed as if he didn't know what to do with them.

"State your name," the Chief Warlock intoned.

"Draco Adrian Malfoy."

"Mr. Malfoy," Kingsley said, "please tell us what you remember of the night Albus Dumbledore was killed. You may begin from when you arrived at the top of the Astronomy Tower." Kingsley had requested the same thing of each witness, but had never questioned them further, never challenged them or tried to point out any weak points in their story. Hermione was beginning to think that he wasn't such a great advocate.

"The old fool was there alone," Draco sneered. "I must have surprised him. I disarmed him immediately. It was easy," he said with arrogant pride. "I don't know why everyone said he was so great, if he couldn't even protect himself against a simple Disarming Charm. Then he prattled, stalled for time. I could have done him then, but I needed to wait until my backup arrived. I needed them as witnesses. I didn't want to kill the old man, of course, but if I didn't, the Dark Lord would have killed me and my parents. I had to do it, and I needed proof that it had been me, that it wasn't an accident." He tossed his hair back from his face in a gesture that was eerily reminiscent of Severus.

"Then Amycus and Alecto Carrow arrived with the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, Brutus Jugson, and Flavius Celsare. But the old fool looked so pitiful, I actually felt sorry for him! He was unarmed, for God's sake. I'm no cold-blooded killer. Then Snape came in, and the old man actually started begging for his life. Pathetic." He sniffed haughtily. "He always thought Snape was working for him, when all along he was helping the Dark Lord's cause. He was such a poor judge of character. The Dark Lord always said that would be his downfall, and it was. I would have done it eventually, you know, but I had to work up to it. You can't just speak the Killing Curse, you've got to mean it, but Snape just couldn't wait. Got impatient. Maybe he knew reinforcements were on the way from the Order, I don't know, but all of a sudden he stuck out his wand and said it. I was furious. He'd promised my mother that he'd help me succeed, but instead he caused me to fail. After that, I had to seek protection from Potter, of all people." It was clear from his tone of voice how much this had disgusted him.

When it appeared that Draco was finished with his recitation, Kingsley cleared his throat. "Would you be so kind as to relate what happened after Severus Snape pointed his wand at Albus Dumbledore?"

Draco turned to Kingsley in irritation. "I told you, didn't I? You know how it goes. He said the words, _'Avada Kedavra_,' a green light came out of his wand and hit the old man in the chest, blasted him right up into the air and over the wall. He looked pretty surprised, I can tell you that."

Strange, thought Hermione. Why surprised? He'd known that Severus was going to kill him. Perhaps he hadn't expected it so soon?

"Thank you," Kingsley said, inclining his head slightly. "You are correct. We do all know how the Killing Curse goes. I think we've all seen it more often than we'd have liked." This last remark was directed at the members of the Wizengamot, most particularly at Minerva, whose eyes widened slightly as she gave Kingsley a nearly imperceptible nod.

"Kingsley!" Snape hissed in a threatening tone.

"That concludes our case," Kingsley announced. "I think you will find the evidence overwhelming that the accused be acquitted of the charge against him of having murdered Albus Dumbledore by means of the Killing Curse."

Hermione frowned. How could Kingsley say that? All the evidence brought had shown that Snape was, without a doubt, guilty. Unless they were all supposed to see that the witnesses had been lying. The spectators seemed to share Hermione's opinion, since a loud murmuring began as puzzled looks were thrown back and forth.

Some of the warlocks, too, seemed at a loss as to what to think of the defense Kingsley had put on. Minerva spoke up. "Call for a deliberation."

"Seconded," said another voice.

...xOxOxOx...

What the hell...? Hermione was more confused than ever when she returned the bottle with the memory to the librarian. Following the deliberation, the Chief Warlock had announced the verdict: Acquitted of the crime of having used an Unforgivable Curse. Guilty of the lesser crime of having inadvertently caused the death of Albus Dumbledore. Sentenced to time served.

Hermione slowly walked back to the Auror Headquarters. She needed to talk to Kingsley again, see if he would be any more willing to explain things now that she'd viewed the trial.

"I'm sorry, but Auror Shacklebolt has left for the weekend. If you'd like to make an appointment to see him on Monday...?" The attentive secretary held her quill poised.

Frustrated once again, Hermione went to the lift, all the while replaying the trial in her head. There was something there, she was sure of it. Something Kingsley knew about. Or had he simply thought that her seeing Severus would help her to 'understand' him better? Maybe she was supposed to see that he was honest, willing to accept whatever punishment was deemed necessary, that he hadn't tried to defend his actions or weasel his way out by bringing up the extenuating circumstances. As far as Hermione was concerned, however, that had been pure stupidity on his part. Stupidity and feelings of guilt.

The lift arrived, and she got on, pressing the button for Level Two.

There was the point, early on, where Severus had refused to answer whether he was guilty of using the Killing Curse. Maybe Minerva had noticed that as well, and pointed it out to the rest of the warlocks during deliberations.

There must have been something else, though. But there was nothing, except for the three Death Eaters and Draco, and they had all said the same thing. Yet Kingsley had said the evidence was overwhelming that Severus was innocent. Nothing else. Other than the comment about there having been too much use of the Killing Curse, which Minerva had seemed to agree with.

Hermione had also been witness to the _Avada Kedavra_ in the Final Battle. She hadn't used it herself, but Neville had, against Bellatrix. Only after Bellatrix had used it against Harry, though. Both deaths had occurred within a split second of each other. Two green flashes. Two crumpled bodies. It hadn't been very spectacular at all. No screams, no thrashing about, no pain. Probably why Bellatrix had always favored the _Cruciatus_.

Hermione walked out into the Atrium. It had been restored completely, not a trace evident of the bloody battle which had taken place there seven years earlier. Had it already (or only?) been seven years?

Severus, at least, had been merciful in that, in ending it quickly, not allowing Dumbledore to be tortured. Hermione's thoughts returned to Draco's comment that Dumbledore had appeared surprised. Unbidden, the image of Dumbledore's face came to her mind, the moment of realization that Severus had uttered the Curse. Then him flying back...how long had he remained conscious? Death with the Avada Kedavra was supposed to be instantaneous, so she supposed he... Wait. Hermione stopped in her tracks, nearly causing an elderly witch to collide with her from behind. Two crumpled bodies. Dumbledore flying back over the wall. That wasn't how _Avada Kedavra_ worked. _Avada Kedavra didn't throw the victim backwards._ Her being thrown backwards in Severus' quarters. That was how _Expelliarmus_ worked. Or could work, if enough force was behind it. Hermione felt light-headed. Severus hadn't Cursed Dumbledore. He had Disarmed him.

_AN: This isn't an original theory, but I like it a lot._


	15. Chapter 15 Going Back

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

**CHAPTER 15**

**Going Back**

Hermione was still giddy when she got back to her room. Severus hadn't used an Unforgivable Curse against Dumbledore! Somehow that made her feel better, even though it didn't change the fact that Severus had actually killed him by knocking him back over the wall. She hoped that he'd at least been knocked out by the force of the _Expelliarmus_. Or whatever it had been. There were certainly other spells that could have the same effect, but that didn't really matter.

So Severus must have spoken the words without truly meaning them, in order to release the telltale green beam, and at the same time non-verbally invoked the Disarming Charm. It would have been a tricky piece of work, requiring total concentration and perfect timing, and there would have been no room for error. She wondered whether he'd planned it like that beforehand. But he couldn't have known that the moment for him to act would come on the top of a tall tower. He must have come up with it on the spur of the moment, knowing that he couldn't muster enough hatred for Dumbledore to make the Curse effective.

And now: what to do with this information? Tell everyone? Publish the true story? She had to admit that, even if it came out that Dumbledore had made Snape promise to kill him, it would do more to make Dumbledore look like a martyr than to make Snape look like a hero. And, although knowing that Snape hadn't used the _Avada Kedavra_ would make the outcome of the trial easier to understand, it wouldn't go a long way toward changing people's opinion of Snape as a murderer. That was a burden that he would continue to bear. The awfulness of it made her actually angry at Dumbledore for asking Severus to do it. She understood intellectually the advantages, and in the end he had been right (tactically, if not morally), but it didn't make it any easier.

She thought she would probably tell people like Ron, Arthur, and Remus. People who knew Severus, and who knew most of the story already.

But what about Severus himself? She didn't think he'd like her knowing, or the fact that she'd gone out of her way to investigate. It was clear now what he'd been hissing at Kingsley during the trial. He hadn't wanted Kingsley to tell the truth about what had happened, and Kingsley had surely known even about the agreement with Dumbledore at that time. But why? Again, stupidity and guilt. He had wanted to be punished. And he had been. He was continuing to punish himself more than any prison could. Hadn't Remus already said that? He had been right.

...xOxOxOx...

At dinner that evening, Hermione was a bundle of nerves. She dropped her fork twice and spilled her pumpkin juice all over the tablecloth, earning herself glares from Severus.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to finish my meal without having to resort to an _Impervius_ spell," he snapped.

"Sorry," she winced, siphoning up the spill with the help of the _Tergeo _spell. Maybe she shouldn't sit next to him anymore. They never talked anyway, and she was starting to feel bad about leaving Remus alone. Well, not exactly alone: he seemed to have been getting on famously with Minerva, but she still felt like she had been slighting him recently. Additionally, when Professor Sinistra returned on Sunday, she'd probably want to have her regular seat back. There was no hard and fast rule about where the professors sat at the staff table, but habit had a way of dictating behaviour.

Hermione snuck a sidelong glance at Severus. He was sitting with his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, slowly chewing a piece of lamb from the hotpot that was the evening's main course. She was suddenly reminded of him sitting in the defendant's chair, his arms bound by heavy chains. She wanted so much to be able to talk to him about it, but she knew it would just embarrass him, leading to an explosion of temper.

He looked at her then, looking at him, and she gave him a quick smile, then turned back to her own plate.

_Remarkable, how she keeps returning despite my repeated outbursts. Bloody obstinate. She would probably say persistent. I wonder how much longer she will continue to be so. I believe only Albus was more obstinate than she. Already, she has pushed it past the point where it will be easy to put her out of my mind. Those looks, those smiles...the other day when she came back from the Forest, and I... what a fool I was! Making more memories and possibilites to torture myself with. I cannot...it is too late. _

Snape's jaw hardened and a scowl overtook his features. He dropped his fork and knife onto his plate with a harsh clink and pushed his chair away from the table.

Hermione looked at him anxiously. What had she done now?

Snape stood up and left the room without so much as a word.

Hermione felt her face growing red. She would not cry. She cast a glance toward Remus out of the corner of her eye. He was still for a moment; she didn't know whether he was watching her or not, and she didn't want to look at him all the way to find out. Then he moved, picked up his cup. She tilted her head down a little so that some of her hair fell forward, obscuring his view of her face. She didn't feel like eating anymore, but she didn't want to leave right after Severus; she didn't want anyone to think she was going after him, because this time she certainly wasn't. Maybe she never would again. It wasn't right that he should have so much power over her, be able to control her moods and actions with the slightest word, look or gesture. She knew that. What she didn't know was that she had the same effect on him.

After a few minutes, during which she sat silently, picking at her food, she laid her silverware down and got up to leave. Quietly, Remus did too.

"Hermione," he said gently, catching up to her. "Is there anything wrong? Do you want to talk?"

Of course she did, she ached to, but she couldn't tell him; he would be hurt, and anyway it was all too personal, too intimate. Too many confidences, too many secrets. "Thanks, Remus. I've just had a long day is all." She tried to sound lighthearted, but avoided looking directly at him.

"Hermione." He touched her chin with his finger. "Come on. It's me."

...xOxOxOx...

"Now then," he said, settling stiffly into an armchair. "Tell Uncle Remus all about it."

Hermione squirmed into the corner of Remus's sofa and pulled her legs up under herself. "It's not so easy."

Remus smiled understandingly. "Shall I help?"

Hermione shrugged noncommittally.

He cleared his throat. "You're finding yourself attracted to Severus."

Hermione looked shyly at him. "Is it that obvious?" she asked with a wry smile.

Remus gave her a kindly look. "Only because I know you so well. I don't think you need to worry about being the butt of lunchroom gossip, though."

"I just don't want to...embarrass him. He's... so difficult." She bent her head down and picked at the hem of her robe.

"Yes, he is," Remus agreed. "But you knew that."

"It's not like I went looking for this to happen," she said plaintively.

"One rarely does." His focus drifted away from Hermione, away from that time and place, and he was silent for a moment.

"But now..." She shook her head. "I don't know, it's all so muddled."

Remus returned to the present. "How do you think he feels about it, if I may ask?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," she said helplessly. "Sometimes I'm sure he feels the same way I do. And other times I'm sure he can't stand to be around me."

"Perhaps it is one and the same," Remus suggested.

"What?"

"I'm not saying it is, mind you, but if he really does have certain feelings for you, it might very well be uncomfortable for him to admit it. To you, certainly, but also to himself."

"Do you think that will ever change? Do you think there's any chance at all...?"

"You might want to consult Sibyll on that one," he said with a twinkle in her eye.

Hermione snorted, glad for the release of humour, then went on, "Oh, Merlin, Remus, I don't know. I realized tonight how I keep seeking his approval, and I don't like being that way. I realized that I've been neglecting our friendship in order to make time for him, and he doesn't even care, and that's not fair either. And practically every time we're together, he gets in a temper and tries to blame me for it. I'm smart enough to see that those are not promising signs for a healthy relationship."

"I'm glad you've realized it yourself," Remus said seriously. "I think you set out to try and change him, which is probably a doomed undertaking. But I'd hate to see you end up changing yourself instead."

"I know, you're right. You're right. But still...there's something there. I think I could be good for him, if he'd let me. And, strange as it may sound, I think he could be good for me as well."

"How so?" Remus looked at her curiously.

"Well, first of all, he's at least as smart as me. I love Ron to death, don't get me wrong, but it just never felt right, knowing that I was smarter than him. There were so many things I had to explain to him, you know, innuendos and hidden meanings he didn't get. Conversations with him just got so frustrating. I think he would challenge me, keep me striving to do better. Not that I'd want to be in competition with him; I think our interests are just divergent enough that we'd never be in direct competition with each other. But I'd like to be appreciated for my brains, rather than envied or tolerated."

"Yes, I believe I can see that. Anything else?"

"Well..." Hermione flicked her eyes up at Remus and then back down, unsure how to put it. "There's just some...I don't know, magnetism, I suppose you'd call it. Just whenever I'm near him, it's like zing! You know?"

Remus cleared his throat. "Yes, I believe I know what you're talking about," he said with a small smile.

"I'm not saying that that can be the sole basis for a relationship," she quickly added. "I-- Well, I've had my experience with that, and believe me, I won't be going down that road again too soon. But without that... Then you've just got a friendship, haven't you."

"Yes, you have," he acknowledged. "A very precious friendship." It was clear to both of them that that pretty much described her and Remus' relationship.

Hermione smiled, a little embarrassed, then got up and went over to Remus, hugged him and knelt down beside his chair. "I'm sorry to burden you with this. You don't want to hear about my sordid love life."

"Not at all. I'm finding it highly entertaining. Besides, Severus is one of my oldest friends."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"All right, one of my oldest... Well, what would you call him? Acquaintance is too casual. I practically grew up with the man, worked with him in the Order and at Hogwarts for most of my adult life. I may know him better than any one else alive. I never wished him any ill; on the contrary, I hope that he does find happiness, however he may define that."

"I know something about him that you don't know," Hermione said, resting her chin on the arm of his chair.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me; he has a birthmark shaped like a herring on his left hip."

Hermione frowned and laughed. "No, nothing like that! No." She became serious. "I went to the Ministry of Magic today."

She proceeded to relate what she had found out about Severus' trial.

When she had finished, Remus looked down at her somberly. "That does make things clearer."

"But he obviously didn't want anyone to know about it. I think he actually hoped he would be found guilty."

"As do I. But luckily, he had good friends in Minerva and Kingsley, among others, surely, who wouldn't let that happen."

"It was still an awful thing for him to have to do."

"I wouldn't have wished it on him."

"I want him to know that I know. I don't like knowing something about him and having to keep it a secret from him."

"I would agree that keeping secrets is a poor way to establish trust in a relationship."

...xOxOxOx...

"Now do you want to tell me what's got you in such a huff, luv?" Lenore rolled over onto her side and placed one hand on Snape's chest. He was still wearing his shirt.

"No, I bloody well do not!" he snapped. "If I were interested in unburdening my soul, I would be down sitting at the bar in the Hog's Head."

"It's just that I can't help noticing you've been here twice this week, rarin' to go both times. You wouldn't be succumbing to my charms, now, not after all this time?" She grinned at him cheekily and pinched his pectoral muscle through the shirt.

He batted her hand away and frowned. "If you are going to start being tiresomely chatty, I will have to take my business elsewhere. Now give me a moment, and then I'll be on my way."

"Don't be silly, you and I both know no one else would have you," she sighed in a bored way.

Snape pushed her away roughly and swung his legs around so he could sit up with his back to her. "No, they won't," he snarled, "but that doesn't mean I'm getting attached to you."

Lenore gasped and sat up as well, letting the sheet fall away and exposing her naked torso. "Oh, no, that's not what I meant at all, luv! Honestly I didn't. I just meant-- I was kidding, you know, I only meant that no other _professional_ would-- you know, in a teasing way, I didn't mean that no other _woman_ would--"

"But they don't, do they," he spat, his voice full of self-loathing. "Which is why I am forced to seek out your company, if I can call it that." He summoned his pants and trousers and began to pull them on.

"Oh luv, I'm sorry, truly." Lenore bit her lower lip. "Look. Honestly? I-- I reckon I'm just a wee bit jealous. I've had you to myself for so long, and I... well, I can _tell_ when there's another woman involved."

Snape turned to look at Lenore, his eyes flashing dangerously. "What do you mean by that?"

"Look, usually when a client comes to see me more often than usual, it's one of two things. Either he's under stress at work or at home, or he's being frustrated in the love department. Now in the first case, he tends to...well, need a bit more coaxing along. In the second case, he's usually done before I even get my clothes off. Well." She spread her hands as if to say that the case was clear.

"You're wrong, it's nothing like that," Snape scowled, reaching down to slip his feet into his boots.

"Oh. Well, good. Cause I'd hate for you to end up happy."

"There will be no danger of that." He stood and pulled on his robes.

Lenore walked over to the edge of the bed on her knees, oblivious of the fact that she was completely nude, and reached up to do his buttons. "Whoever she is, she's nuts if she doesn't fall for you. I mean, look at you: good job, great health, still young--"

"You've forgotten my good looks and mild temper," he said, quirking an eyebrow.

Lenore laughed. "And a wicked sense of humour. So seriously, is there someone? Merely professional interest, I need to know whether to keep an hour open for you next week or not."

Snape stared over her head. "It is...an impossibility. I am sure you will be seeing me again."

...xOxOxOx...

It was dark outside as Snape walked the road back to Hogwarts.

_How pitiful am I, that the one person with whom I can even consider discussing my situation is a whore. Not a friend, certainly not a lover. Sex is not love. Not that I have any right to speak of a knowledge of love. I have never truly had either one in my life: a friend or a lover. Which makes this...situation...with Hermione all the more accursed. She wants, I believe, to be both. I can't be, don't know how to be, either one. I believe I have hurt her already, which isn't surprising, as it's all I know how to do well. If she doesn't give up soon, I am afraid that something truly distressing will happen. If she does give up... Gods help me, can I admit that in my heart of hearts (perhaps I do have one after all), I don't want her to?_


	16. Chapter 16 Tedious Explanations

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

**CHAPTER 16**

**Tedious Explanations**

_She took her 'regular' seat this morning at breakfast. Sinistra is back, of course, and any deviation from the old order of things would have required tedious explanations. In that, at least, the little Mudblood is, or has become, circumspect. Or, perhaps she has given up after all. Perhaps this whole thing was a minor flare-up brought on by the emotions stirred at the reunion. Reminders of Potter, etcetera. When did it all begin? Was there anything before that kiss? (Even now, remembering it, I am becoming aroused...)_

_The play. She came down to my quarters. Wanted to apologize, smooth things over. I attacked her, wanted to prove my capacity for evil. As if that needed proving. Yet even then, even after that, she reached out to me. Touched me. Purported to understand...something that even I do not understand. Perhaps...there was something there. _

_Lenore is a sentimental sap. Thinks all a man needs is a simpering, devoted woman and he can live happily ever after. Tobias and Eileen put that rumour to the lie before Lenore was even born. _

_Hermione, too, is of a sentimental bent. She wants things to be right and just. She wants people to be honourable and act on moral principles. That she still has such ideals, after all she's seen and been through is a testimony to her stupendous sentimentality. Yet she never was a silly girl, never one of the Gryffindor Geese (of which her yearmates Brown and Patil were prime examples), never let romantic entanglements get in the way of her schoolwork. If she'd wanted the house, the kids, the childhood sweetheart, she could have had Weasley. He was no match for her. But perhaps exactly that was a result of her sentimentality: she wanted perfection. She couldn't be much farther off than me._

_There is no chance that either of us could end up happy, were I to allow this to continue. I do not believe I am even able to experience that emotion, if indeed I ever was. I will hurt her. Either way. By rejecting her, or by accepting her..._

...xOxOxOx...

The Hogwarts Express brought the students back late Sunday afternoon. The House Heads needed to be present in the Entrance Hall to receive them when the Thestral-driven carriages arrived, but as Remus was indisposed again, Hermione represented Gryffindor.

After having the relative quiet of the past couple of weeks, it was a bit overwhelming to be met with the sudden onslaught of laughing, pushing, overexcited teenagers. Did she, Ron and Harry use to be so loud? She smiled indulgently at the Second-Year girls gushing over each other's new haircuts and the Fourth-Year boys showing off the new broomsticks they'd gotten for Christmas, although she had to intervene to stop them from taking off right there in the Entrance Hall.

Everyone was expected in the Great Hall for dinner, so she did her best to herd students in that direction as efficiently as possible. Professors Flitwick and Sprout were also busily issuing encouragements to "move along now" and shooing the students forward, while Snape hovered at the back of the crowd, aloof. Following the last stragglers, he neared Hermione, staring at her in deep concentration, making her insides ache with longing. At the same time, she had to remind herself that whatever he was brooding about, it wasn't her fault. She wouldn't let him control her emotions. She hung back a little at the door, and when he reached her, she forced herself not to worry about what was on his mind, but rather to smile pleasantly and wish him a good evening. Just as she had to Filius and Pomona. Only they hadn't caused her pulse rate to increase and her pupils to dilate.

_She is waiting for me. Very well, Hermione. You wished a dalliance. I have no idea where this will lead us; it will likely be just one more mistake on the heap that is my life. I take no responsibility for yours._

He inclined his head slightly and returned her words, then lightly placed his hand on the small of her back, as if to usher her inside. He walked with her for two steps, then casually let his hand slide away over her hip.

Barely trusting herself not to blush furiously, she stole a glance in his direction. He was watching her with a blank expression on his face, but again there was the nod of acknowledgement, and then he was walking ahead past the Slytherin table, nodding at his charges. She walked up the other side of the Hall, past the Gryffindors. He was naturally faster than her, so by the time she reached the staff table, he was already seated between Professors Sinistra and Arcanum. Hermione took her place between the two empty chairs normally occupied by Remus and Angelina (who was once again apparently operating in her own time zone) and proceeded to completely zone out the rest of dinner.

Did what she think just happened, happen? Did Severus just signal his desire to... what? Be friends? That had much more than a 'just friends' gesture. Date her? No. Surely not. Severus Snape did not date. Nor did he have relationships. Perhaps...explore possibilities? Oh Merlin, what was she getting herself in to?

...xOxOxOx...

Due to the full moon, Hermione had to remain on duty as Gryffindor Deputy Head that night. This meant that she had to remain on call in her room; Severus likewise, as Head of Slytherin. If not... On the one hand, she was excited to find out what he had meant by those nods and touches. On the other, perhaps he hadn't meant anything; she absolutely couldn't let him control her like this! But oh, those eyes: reflecting desire and power. Those lips: so thin and strict-looking, yet so tender, supple, and demanding. Those fingers: pale and bony, tipped by long blackened nails, so nimble and strong, eliciting shivers of excitement and ripples of stimulation throughout her body.

What if he did mean what she thought he meant? What if he let her into his life? Or did he just mean to let her into his bed? She had been flattered, too, when Crispin had made eyes at her, had made it clear that he was interested in her. She had known that he was married, but she hadn't thought about what that meant, neither about the consequences nor about the prospects for the future of the relationship.

Did she want to rush blindly into a similar situation with Severus? What were the dangers of getting involved with him? He was a known personality in the close-knit wizarding community, and an unpopular one at that. Would his negative press rub off on her? Possibly. Probably. Guilt by association. Might that have consequences for her career? Not for her position at Hogwarts, certainly; if Severus was able to teach here, she certainly would be able to. She also couldn't see how an association (particularly a brief and torrid one) with Severus Snape might affect her chances of being hired by any other institute of higher education. On the other hand, what if he got it into his head to ruin her? (At this point, she wouldn't put it past him to initiate such steps for nothing worse than wearing Muggle clothes to a formal occasion.) He must have connections on both sides, Dark and Light. Although the Dark ones weren't likely to be accomodating any more, as he had betrayed Voldemort, and he himself had alienated most of the Light ones with his rudeness. So, again, not much danger there.

Well, what about a hypothetical relationship's future? If he did accept her, in whatever capacity, it's not like she would have a lot of competition. No jealous wives or girlfriends (mental note: Lenore?), no dependent children (that she knew of), no political aspirations, no worries over scandal. His work was likely to be her only competitor, but according to him, he wasn't involved in any projects or research (which, Hermione thought in another mental aside, she would have to do something about). Teaching, grading essays and Head of House duties took up the lion's share of his time.

Could she see herself (she hesitated even to think such a thing) _married_ to him? Or at least, still with him in five years? Twenty years? Could they have a life together? Those questions were impossible to answer before she got to know him better. Which is what she hoped to do. Soon.


	17. Chapter 17 A Little Awkward

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_AN: Just had to get that out of the way, so that Snape's behaviour doesn't seem like a complete jump. And now things can start to get interesting..._

**CHAPTER 17**

**A Little Awkward**

The next morning, Hermione entered the Great Hall through the staff entrance and was greeted by the low drone of a couple of hundred students eating breakfast, or at least sipping drowsily at the contents of their cups. A quick reconnaissance of the staff table showed the back of Severus' head, next to a long line of empty chairs: Professor Sinistra and Angelina were either not there yet, or had already left, and Remus would still be recovering from the full moon. Making a quick decision, Hermione took the one beside Severus.

"Good morning," she murmured, reaching for the coffee.

Severus paused with a triangle of toast topped with a fried egg halfway to his mouth. "Good morning," he replied in a low voice.

Hermione poured herself a cup, feeling that he was watching her. She set the pot down and turned to look at him.

He nodded slowly once, dark eyes fixed on hers, and then resumed eating his toast.

Hermione felt a little awkward. She almost felt like she should make conversation, but that had never been received well before, especially not during meals. Had something changed between them, or not? Severus did seem to be acting a little differently; more attentive, perhaps. She decided that she'd done enough by sitting beside him again, and that if he wanted to converse, then he should say something.

She took a piece of toast and was just buttering it when someone sat down on the other side of her: Professor Sinistra. The haughty-looking woman with the severe hairstyle that would give Minerva a run for her money glanced curiously at Hermione. "Have we altered the seating arrangements then?" she asked, not impolitely.

"Oh, erm, I just had something I wanted to, erm, discuss with Professor Snape," Hermione said quickly.

Professor Sinistra shrugged and reached for the coffee pot.

"So," Hermione said, casting about in her mind for a cover, "Severus, what are you going to be working on with your N.E.W.T. class this week?" She turned to him, hoping he would play along.

He raised an eyebrow. "What concern is that of yours?" he asked, appearing very interested in what Hermione might answer.

Hermione jerked her head in what she hoped was an inconspicuous manner toward Professor Sinistra.

Snape pressed his lips together. "Invisibility potions, if you must know. I was inspired by the hellebore samples you brought back. But there is another matter of more...immediate concern." He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "Will Lupin be recovered enough by this evening to resume his duties as Head of House?"

Hermione found Snape's sudden concern with Remus' well-being to be slightly disconcerting, but responded nevertheless, "I assume so; he usually takes a 24-hour leave. He'll sleep all day, maybe take dinner in his room, but he should be available tonight. Why? Is there a meeting?"

"No," Snape put his napkin down on his plate, "not for the House Heads at any rate. I will see _you_ tonight after curfew in my quarters." He stood in one smooth motion and exited the room without looking back.

Hermione's heart started hammering. She looked to her left, but Professor Sinistra was staring straight ahead, her elbows resting on the table, holding her coffee cup with both hands. She didn't give a sign of having heard their exchange.

She was just getting up to go to her first class, her knees a little weak, when Angelina rushed in. "Hey, Hermione, how were your hols?" she asked, slightly out of breath, as she leaned over the table to snag a piece of toast.

"Fine, I suppose," Hermione said. After all the emotional ups and downs, she wasn't sure whether she would characterize them as 'fine'. Not entirely unpleasant, either, however.

"Anything happen? Hey, why're you sitting over there?" she asked around a mouthful of toast. She had crammed the entire piece in in one.

"Oh, I erm...nothing. It was all empty when I came down." What did Snape want to see her for?

Professor Sinistra looked askance at Hermione, but didn't say anything.

Angelina, still standing, had finished her toast and now reached over to pour herself a large glass of pumpkin juice.

"Hey, how's Reem. Full moon last night, eh?"

"Haven't seen him yet," Hermione shrugged, forcing herself to put Severus out of her mind for the moment. "You got back late."

"Yeah, I flew in just now, to tell you the truth. Gotta squeeze every last drop of goodness out of the time Dougal and I spend together." She grinned cheekily. "Hey, you want to come by tonight? I've got some gorgeous shots of him in action...on the pitch, obviously!"

"Er...some other time, all right?" Hermione begged off. "I've got a meeting already set up." She hoped Angelina wouldn't ask who the meeting was with!

"Ah, Hermione, always with the nose to the grindstone. You need to get a man." She started gulping her pumpkin juice.

Hermione laughed, rather more nervously than she might otherwise have, had she not just had that very interesting encounter with Severus. "Oh, Angelina, you know me. Books are my one true love."

...xOxOxOx...

What to wear? The eternal question. Complicated by the fact that she had no blooming clue as to what the point of this meeting (date? rendezvous? tryst?) was. The possibilities ranged from him reading her the riot act and telling her in no uncertain terms to get out of his life once and for all, to a round of deviant sexual acts. Honestly, she hoped it was something in between. She didn't want to look too eager (to avoid embarrassment in case of the first scenario, to avoid giving the impression of willingness in the second), but she did want to look nice, just in case...

Witches' robes for certain, as he had made it clear that he detested Muggle fashions. Something voluminous and somber? All she had that fit that description was what she wore to teach in, and she did want to at least make the point that she'd cared enough to change. Not that he'd probably notice anyway, she grumbled to herself. Men! Well, the red one she'd worn to the reunion was out. That had clearly been too suggestive. The dark brown velvet one with the narrow skirt? Maybe. Although it was hard to move around in, if she had to-- Oh stop it! Just pick one, it doesn't matter, she scolded herself. All right then...the midnight blue with the flared, floor-length skirt and the silver trim. It was matte, high-necked and had long sleeves with triangular mitons extending over the backs of her hands. The trim made it a touch too formal, perhaps, but at least she had chosen something.

On to hair. Her eternal nightmare. She'd cut it all off one of these days. But tonight...plenty of Sleekeasy's, although it did tend to leave a residue on one's fingers-- Come off it, Hermione! He won't be touching your hair. He'll probably torment and humiliate you for a while, as usual. Maybe get in a good Curse or two. So, hair in a thick braid on one side over her shoulder.

Makeup? It's dark down in that dungeon anyway. But all right, just a little something to even out her complexion. A touch of Neverfade lip colour. An accent on her eyes.

Nearly ten o'clock. It's now or never. Hermione felt for her wand in her pocket and headed out the door.

...xOxOxOx...

"Good evening." Snape opened the entrance to his quarters and allowed Hermione to enter. He was wearing a black waistcoat and trousers, having removed the caftan.

_Well, well, she's put on a dress that says 'no touching'. Perhaps she is having second thoughts. I certainly am. This will never, _never_ work. She will expect some sort of give-and-take, devotion, sharing. She will want to become a part of my life, require me to take an interest in hers. She should have stuck with Weasley, left me to my own broodings._

Hermione walked in and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. "You've tidied up since the last time," she noted.

_Last time? Ah yes, the play. I was in a bit of a temper._

"House-elves," he said tersely and walked over to the fire, his back to her.

_What now? I ordered her here, like some tart, and now? If she were nothing more than a tart, I would take her now; the memory of how she looked at me, breathed, 'Give me Severus'... Every night I am kept from sleep by those words._

She waited for a moment, but he didn't say anything, didn't even look at her, staring instead into the fire. She was beginning to feel a bit foolish.

"So," she broke the silence.

Snape started, as if he'd forgotten she was there. He turned halfway toward her, a frown on his face. "So."

"Erm...Did you have a nice day?" And next we can discuss the weather.

"It was no different than any other Monday."

"No, then." She smiled nervously.

Snape half-smiled. _Either send her away or play along. _He sighed. "And you?"

"I took two of Remus' Defense classes today. We put the third-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs together in the first hour and the second-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs together in the second hour for Defense, and the same in the afternoon for my History classes."

Snape was watching her with a blank expression.

"But you didn't want to see me for a discussion of course schedules, I assume."

He frowned, "No," but did not elaborate.

Hermione took a couple of tentative steps toward him. "Severus...?"

He stiffened. "Hermione, I-- This is quite awkward."

She stopped. "Shall I help?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"You..." She tried to choose her words carefully, so as not to embarrass him. Or herself. "...feel there is a certain...interest between us, but you aren't sure what to do about it. If anything."

Snape did not respond, so she figured she couldn't be all too far off. Otherwise he would have already laughed in her face. She took a deep breath and continued, "I don't know, either. We don't really know each other, do we. I mean, we saw each other every week for six years, but you probably didn't take more notice of me than any other snotty half-wit you taught." She smiled in spite of herself, and noticed that the corner of his mouth twitched, too.

"You forget that you were not just Hermione Granger, know-it-all, you were the brains of Potter's operation." Somehow, he made it sound uncomplimentary.

So she was indelibly associated with Harry in his mind. She knew how he felt, personally, about Harry. Rather than go into that at this point, she turned the conversation back towards him. "And you were--"

"I was the Greasy Git, the evil bat of the dungeons," he interrupted, somewhat bitterly.

Hermione waited a moment before continuing, gently, "That's not what I was going to say. I know, that's what a lot of students thought of you." _Still do._ "But I recognized that you were trying to teach us something, and you didn't have any patience for students who weren't serious about learning what you had to offer. I can completely sympathize with that, teaching a mandatory subject." She smiled again, more warmly this time. "Do they have a nickname for me, by the way?" she asked out of sudden curiosity.

"Pouffe."

Hermione frowned. "Pouffe? They think I'm a gay man?" She looked down at her body. Breasts, check. Hips, check. Of all the--

Snape actually snorted. "No, I shouldn't think so. I would imagine it refers to...this--" he waved his hands around his head, indicating her hair.

"Oh." She crossed her arms over her chest and continued to frown. When would everyone stop harping on her hair?

"And perhaps History of Magic being a 'soft' subject."

"Mm," she grumped, slightly mollified.

"I suppose it might also refer to your magical ability. Being a bit lacking," he drawled.

OK, now he was getting personal. "My magical ability isn't lacking!" she protested. "I'll have you know I got Os on ten out of eleven O.W.L.s and seven out of eight N.E.W.T.s, and Es on the rest!"

"Which shows you are skillful at studying, nothing else." It actually looked like he was having fun putting her down.

"There were practical bits on those tests!"

"Anyone could pass those tests with a good enough memory and a bit of wit."

"Oh yes? I'll bet I did better than you did anyway!"

"And yet who has the greater power at their disposal?" A sneer was beginning to form on his lips.

She was on the verge of drawing her wand, and in fact her fingers twitched over her pocket. If this had been back in her student days, she would have done it. She knew now, though, what terrible destruction, both physical and psychological, the improper use of magic could cause.

"You're older than me. More experienced," she said stiffly, flexing her fingers at her side.

"Yes." And now he was the old scornful, sour Potions Master again.

This was deteriorating, Hermione thought despondently. Once more, true to form, they were reverting to the old pattern of insult and defense. She drew herself up, put her chin in the air. "Is that why you asked me here tonight? To insult and belittle me?"

Snape seemed to struggle with the answer before finally admitting through gritted teeth, "No."

Hermione's stance relaxed slightly. "Why do you do it then? Do I threaten you in some way? Me, with my feeble powers and immature mind?" she taunted.

_Merlin help me, yes. You do threaten me. You stir up memories...ones I've worked so hard to forget. And feelings...ones I'd forgotten, or perhaps never had before._

He stared at her, a mixture of resentfulness and intensity. "Why do you persist in encroaching on my life?" _My intricately compartmentalized existence, my hard-won peace of mind? _

Leaving aside the fact that you're the one who invited me to come here tonight, she thought, and said aloud, "I don't mean it as an imposition, but I guess I've come to appreciate you more since I've been teaching here. I admire your knowledge and your achievements. I respect your teaching." And you make my whole body respond in the most delicious ways.

"And you wish to learn from me?" His tone was a contemptuous sneer.

"I'm sure I could learn many things from you," she shrugged, "but I don't expect that."

"What do you expect, then?" He seemed hungry to know the answer.

Difficult. Hermione thought for a moment, looking down and fingering her sleeve. "I suppose that you treat me with a decent amount of respect; beyond that, I don't really think I have the right to _expect_ anything."

"You pity me," he threw at her, "you imagine that I am unhappy."

I can damn well see that you're unhappy! "I told you before, I don't pity you. I think I understand better now why you are the way you are." Especially after finding out about Dumbledore and seeing the trial. "Is understanding, or trying to understand, so bad? I'm not just here because I think you need a friend, though." She swallowed over a dry throat, flicked her eyes toward him and then away again.

"Then why?" His tenseness was audible.

"For my own interest. I thought..." She sought his eyes again. "I liked it when you kissed me." The announcement was bold and left a ringing silence in its wake.

_To hear those words, that acknowledgement...I can offer no reciprocation of her honesty. It is embarrassing how easily swayed I am by this woman. _

Snape looked down. "You initiated that...exchange."

"Maybe the first time," she reminded him with a coy smile. "But not the second."

"Will you throw that in my face?" he snarled. "A moment's weakness--"

Hermione took the opportunity to quickly close the distance between them. Standing now beside the armchair behind which Snape was wont to barricade himself, she persisted, "Why is it a weakness? Is that what causes you to insult and push me away? Do you think that showing an inclination toward tenderness is a weakness?"

"Tenderness, sentiment, emotional displays, those are nothing more than Achilles tendons, to be exploited," he said scathingly. "They never lead to anything but grief and unhappiness."

"Just like insults, humiliation, and hostility," she enumerated back at him. "And you know what? If the outcome's the same either way, I'd rather you made me unhappy with tenderness than with insults. At least I'd get some pleasure out of it," she concluded huffily.

Snape's eyes widened, and for a moment she thought he was going to let loose with a tirade again, but then the most amazing thing happened. He chuckled.

A little startled at first, unsure whether he was just making fun of her again, she bristled defensively.

"Miss Granger, I am pleased to see that you have indeed learned something from your association with me over the past few months. I used to be able to dispense with you with a few words, but you have risen worthily to the challenge." He continued to smile, although he was clearly unused to doing so. It was an unusual yet not entirely unpleasant look for him.

"You-- Was this whole thing some sort of test?" she asked indignantly. "Were you setting me up to see how I'd respond to your challenges?" The slimy little--

"Not at all; I assure you that our conversation has been genuine. I am merely admitting that you have managed to impress me."

"Oh," she said, her affront deflating in the face of her proximity to him and the way he was looking at her. "Then I suppose this visit hasn't been completely useless."

"No. Far from it, I would say."

_We have discovered that you are here for entirely selfish reasons. Just as I am. _

The silence expanded around them until it pressed in on them, pushing them together. Their lips caught at each other, hands ran over fabric and gentle curves, felt smoothness and angles. There was no embarrassment then, nor indignation, nor, Severus would have been surprised to discover, had he been inclined to retrospection at that moment, was there selfishness.

...xOxOxOx...

The selfishness came later. Although it hadn't been intentional, not really, Hermione tried to reason to herself. Severus just didn't have much experience with women, aside from Lenore and her ilk, and they certainly didn't demand equal treatment. Probably faked it every time, just to stroke the customer's ego.

When she had realized that Severus was finished, that that was, in fact, all there was going to be, as he had rolled over onto the other side of the bed, she had had half a mind to finish off herself. But then she had dug her nails into her palms to distract herself from her frustration and decided against it, knowing how fragile the male ego was.

Hermione certainly hadn't gotten much sleep in the few hours remaining until dawn, and she didn't think that Snape had, either, judging by the manner in which he kept tossing and making grumbling noises. The next morning had seen them greeting each other from opposite ends of the bed, muted and bleary-eyed, and Hermione had exited as quickly as possible, heading for her own rooms to clean up and change.

It had started out well enough; she could still feel the delicious tickling coolness of his fingers running over her skin, and the burning well of passion rising from her womb in response. She thought that she had pleased him, as well, although perhaps that was just conceit; perhaps he had been as disappointed in the end as she, despite his having achieved at least a physical gratification.

She consoled herself with the fact that her first time with Ron had been similar, although he had obviously been a virgin himself, and thus she hadn't really expected anything else. However, he had been so solicitous and caring on an emotional level that it more than balanced out any shortcomings on the physical side of things. And they had learned together, until they had achieved a satisfactory, if not spectacular, intimacy.

With Crispin, the physical interaction had been spectacular, the emotional sorely lacking.

Maybe that was the problem here; maybe Severus wasn't able yet to open himself up to emotional intimacy. Would he ever be, though? Was he too damaged, or just too set in his ways, to share himself with her in that way? Because if he were, then, from where she was standing, anyway, there was really no point in pursuing this. Much as she found herself becoming attached to Severus, she wasn't in the service business.

...xOxOxOx...

Snape applied the Hair-Away tonic to his face and neck, massaging the liquid into his pores and remembering Hermione touching the same places last night, with her hands, her lips. He felt a burning shame and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. While the potion was working, he brushed his teeth, but soon found himself recalling her tongue licking the same surfaces. He spit the lather out of his mouth and darkened the mirror with an angry flick of his wand, then braced his hands against the sink and closed his eyes, seething.

_How did I let myself get carried away like that? I can withstand years of torture at the hand of the Dark Lord, successfully block His attempts at delving into the most secret recesses of my mind, impassionately administer painful and invasive procedures against innocents, and yet, faced with the prospect of a woman willingly offering herself to me, even knowing that it will come to no good end, I completely lose any shred of self-control and turn into a rutting dog. No, not a dog, that sounds too much like Sirius. Yes, on second thought, that fits perfectly. A rutting dog like Sirius. _

_She could barely wait to get away from me this morning. I'm surprised she even stayed for the rest of the night; bloody Gryffindor honour. _

_AN: Ick, I hate it when there's a fashion show or a makeover right in the middle of an otherwise perfectly good fic, don't you? Sorry this took so long, but I've been devouring other SSHG stories and got caught up in all the good ones out there._


	18. Chapter 18 Well Buffered

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_AN: Super short, but it really stands on its own. _

**CHAPTER 18**

**Well Buffered**

That evening, Hermione took her regular seat at the staff table. She had skipped breakfast and taken a nap through lunch. She tried to catch Snape's eye, but he was well buffered on the far side of Angelina and Professor Sinistra. Angelina proceeded to regale Hermione and Remus with details from her holidays, and Hermione was able to put Snape out of her mind for the time being. After dinner, however, the three of them were heading up to Angelina's room to see her vacation shots, when Hermione caught sight of Snape making a beeline for the steps leading down to the dungeons.

"Go on up, I'll be there in a sec," she assured Angelina and dashed over to Severus. She was a little taken aback by the glare he bestowed on her, but, assuming he was putting on a public face for the benefit of the students swarming out of the Great Hall, she did likewise and tried to keep it short and sweet. "Severus, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk to you this morning. Perhaps you'd care to drop by later?"

"I am supervising a detention this evening," he informed her coolly, frowning at a Slytherin student running past them, wand drawn.

"Of course." She rolled her eyes mentally, but offered, "Well, if it doesn't go too late--"

"I will be occupied until well past a decent hour for social calls. If you will excuse me--" He made to continue toward the stairs.

Why was he being so unfriendly? Had he found sleeping with her to be so repulsive? She felt the same way she had as a student when he had docked her House points for giving the right answer, but considered that perhaps, he was, in a roundabout way, being considerate; maybe he really didn't want her to wait up. "Another time then," she said, trying to be cheerful.

"Professor Granger," he responded coldly, looking at a point in space somewhere behind her, "if it hasn't become clear to you by now, it certainly has to me. There is absolutely no point in continuing our...discussion. You would be well advised to direct your inquiries elsewhere." And with that, he turned and descended the stairs.

Hermione felt a hot wave of embarrassment engulf her. Students continued past her; one of them knocked into her shoulder. They might have mumbled an apology, but she wasn't aware. Somehow, she managed to join the stream moving up toward Gryffindor Tower. Her promise to join Angelina and Remus completely forgotten, she numbly made her way to her room and locked the door, then stood there, in the darkened chamber, shaking.

...xOxOxOx...

Snape sat behind the desk in his classroom, a pile of essays and an extra large pot of red ink before him.

_I cannot even look her in the eye; more than that, her mere presence is a source of embarrassment. When I think of how exposed I was before her...how she saw me lose control; how she made me lose control. _

He attacked the topmost parchment with a flurry of crossings-out and scathing commentary.

_I don't delude myself into believing that she actually got any pleasure from our assignation. A bloody female inclination, to attempt to maintain contact with me now. To what end? To lord it over me? To teach me a lesson in humility? She was warned from the start that she was playing with fire._

He tossed the graded essay roughly aside and stared blindly at the next one.

_Does she actually want me to continue to use her? There was a time, perhaps, in my youth, when I would have gladly taken advantage. But I know that exposure of oneself comes at a price. I can pay Lenore off with Galleons for enduring my physical attentions. What payment would Hermione exact?_

...xOxOxOx...

"Good morning, Hermione." Remus sat down and pulled his chair up to the table.

Hermione smiled wanly at him. "Hi, Remus."

"Up late last night?" he asked playfully, taking note of her puffy eyes and pale complexion.

"Nothing a dose of Pepper-Up potion won't cure," she quipped, holding up her cup.

"Mm," he commented nonchalantly. "Angelina and I wondered where you'd got to."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Remus. It completely slipped my mind."

Remus grinned. "Got a better offer, did you?" He leaned forward to look down the table toward Snape, who was sitting stiffly in his chair, sipping at his own cup.

Hermione shook her head. "No." No, she hadn't gotten any offer at all. A slap in the face was more like it.

"Hermione, what is it? Did something happen?"

"It's nothing, Remus," she said firmly. "Nothing happened." Nothing, aside from Snape having taken her for a fool. Well, she had asked for it, after all. The bastard.

Remus didn't push the issue, but he did notice that the chair beside Snape was empty, and Hermione hadn't taken it; that Hermione didn't look once in Snape's direction, nor he in hers; and that, when Snape stood up abruptly to take his leave, Hermione watched his back with hardened eyes.


	19. Chapter 19 The Game

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_AN: Can you tell I've been reading some really silly stories this week? Warning: Makeover ahead. _

**CHAPTER 19**

**The Game**

Hermione threw herself into her work, spending long hours preparing detailed scale models of the major battles in the Goblin Wars, with each little figure enchanted to act out his part. She even filled them with real goblin blood, so that the students could gain a full appreciation of the horrible consequences of spilling the green fluid: it would ooze out, seek the nearest life form, and attempt to devour it like a giant amoeba.

It was a kind of therapy for her, the monotony of applying the same spells over and over on each bit of clay soothing her into a kind of trance. That and creating little black Snape figurines which she set in a closed box with samples of the goblin blood. That was extremely satisfying.

As for the real Snape, Hermione was feeling quite self-congratulatory that she hadn't slipped a phial of goblin blood into his goblet. She was beyond such adolescent fits of pique, after all. Admittedly, she had the logistics all planned out, but she would never _really_ do it. Not even just to see if she could get away with it. Really.

She hadn't even been spending any time with Remus, so she was a little startled when he knocked on her door one evening and asked her whether she were still planning on going to the football match that weekend.

"Sorry, football?" she frowned, holding a miniature goblin prince between her thumb and forefinger. She had been just about to imbue him with the order to scream like a girl at the first sign of a wand.

"You know," Remus continued, picking up a particularly ugly goblin and squinting at it. "Angelina's boyfriend's team. She gave us all tickets for Christmas." The goblin made a rude hand gesture.

"Oh that," Hermione said. "I don't think so. I have to finish this before Monday. It's the Battle of Frisby on the Wreake," she announced proudly, and tapped the prince on the head with her wand, a slightly mad gleam in her eye. She had made him with an extra large, hooked nose.

"It's very nice," Remus said tactfully. He replaced the goblin figure on the field, where it continued to randomly flip the bird at nobody in particular. "Hermione?"

She finished murmuring instructions to the figure in her hand. "Hm?"

"When's the last time you got out?"

"I was just at dinner an hour ago!" she exclaimed, giving Remus a little frown that said 'how many doses of Wolfsbane have you taken?'.

"No, I mean _out_ out. To London, to Hogsmeade, or just for a turn around the lake?"

"I've been busy," she shrugged.

"You've been brooding," he countered.

"What would I have to brood about?" she asked loftily, and placed the prince where he would be sure to get a good dose of goblin blood.

In a seeming non-sequitor, Remus mentioned, "Severus has single-handedly taken a thousand points off of Gryffindor House this week alone."

Hermione's mouth dropped in horror. "A thousand points?"

Remus raised his hands helplessly. "It's been all I can do to keep us from going into negative territory. I've had to resort to giving out points to students for showing up to class with their wands."

"But that's not fair! Why doesn't Minerva--"

"Oh, it's not just Gryffindor. He even docked a Slytherin Fifth-Year five points for forcing a Hufflepuff boy to drink his own boil-cure potion. Madam Pomfrey said it was the worst case she'd seen since the Weasley twins."

"The man is evil," Hermione sighed in an I-told-you-so way.

"So are you coming with us or not?"

Hermione suddenly got a sneaking suspicion. Immediate segue from football to Severus to football? "Who's 'us'?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

"Me, Hagrid, Angelina of course, Minerva, John, all the staff."

"_All_ the staff?"

"Well, obviously not _all_ the staff. We can't just abandon Hogwarts to the students, now can we." He grinned. "I believe Diane is staying behind with Pomona; I don't actually know about Verity or Strychnia."

Hermione leaned over to make sure a tiny tree was properly anchored. "And...Severus?" She tried to keep her voice nonchalant.

Remus chuckled. "Do you honestly think Angelina gave him tickets?"

Answering a question with a question is no answer. "Did she?" she pressed.

"No, I assure you, she didn't. You can ask her yourself. And even so, do you think Severus would be caught dead at a Muggle football game?"

Another rhetorical question. But he was right. She felt it was fairly safe to say that attending the football game would be the best way to put a large number of kilometres between herself and Severus Snape. Unhappily, what she really wanted was to reduce the distance between them to mere nanometres, if that. But large numbers of kilometres were the second-best thing.

Remus crouched down beside Hermione's work area, so that he could look her in the eye. "Hermione," he said gently. "What happened with Severus? The last time we talked, it sounded like there might be something between you."

"There might have been." Actually, there had been, but she wasn't going to kiss and tell. Her expression became dark. "But he made it clear that he didn't want to see me anymore."

"Why not?"

Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation. "I don't know, Remus! I actually thought things were going pretty well, and then he broke it off in no uncertain terms."

"What exactly did he say?"

"He said there was no point in us seeing each other. Look, I appreciate your concern, but it's kind of embarrassing. I mean, I pretty much threw myself at him, and I'm way out of his league. It's a wonder he even played along as much as he did."

Remus put a hand on her arm and squeezed it firmly. "Hermione, that's nonsense, and you know it. What do you mean by 'out of his league'?"

"He's older than me, has more experience in life and in teaching; he's more powerful, smarter...No wonder he thinks of me as an immature ninny."

"Do you know," Remus said with a smirk, "I do believe you are the first person I've ever heard speaking of Severus in such flattering terms."

"I know, and that's the irony of it all: I set out to convince everyone else that he wasn't as bad as they all think, and I only ended up convincing myself that maybe he is. Oh, not that he's a Death Eater, or that he murdered Albus," she hurried to assure him, seeing that he was about to protest, "but that he's a disagreeable, antisocial bastard."

Remus inclined his head. "I will agree with you there. However, I have to disagree with one thing: I am quite certain that he doesn't think of you as an immature ninny. But, I will respect your wish to let it go."

...xOxOxOx...

"Come on, Ginny, be a sport," Hermione cajoled. She was on her knees in front of her fireplace, her head thrust into the dancing green flames.

"You actually want me to spend my one free night this week freezing my arse off at a Muggle football game?" Ginny was lounging on her sofa, wearing jeans and a midriff-baring jumper.

"I will personally bring along the Bun Warmers. Come on, it's all the staff going, and I'll be bored."

"_All_ the staff?" Ginny raised her eyebrows warily. "Do you think I want to spend the evening with You-Know-Who again? Don't you remember what happened the last time, at the reunion?"

"Ginny, Severus is not Voldemort," Hermione reprimanded her. Even if he had hurt her personally, he still wasn't Evil Personified.

"I'll stop calling him that when you stop calling him by his first name," Ginny pouted.

"Fine." Anything to get her to agree quickly. Her back was starting to hurt from leaning forward so long. "Professor Snape won't be there. Some of the staff members are staying behind to keep an eye on things here."

"What time then," Ginny sighed with a put-upon air.

"Actually," Hermione said tentatively, "I was thinking we could meet up in Diagon Alley a couple of hours before, do an errand and get a bite to eat."

"What sort of errand?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

...xOxOxOx...

"I hate it."

"I think it looks cute," Ginny said encouragingly.

"It's very flattering," added the beautician.

"I hate it." Hermione scowled at her reflection.

"It's just what you asked for," the stylist pointed out, clearly starting to get a little defensive at her customer's reaction.

"It's fine," Ginny assured the other witch. "Give us a minute, kay?"

The beautician shrugged indifferently and stepped over to the next station, where an elderly witch with blue hair was waiting.

"It's just so different; you'll get used to it," Ginny comforted Hermione.

Hermione tentatively reached up to feel the mop of soft curls that had replaced her long, frizzy mane. "It feels like I'm bald." She actually felt like crying. Stupid. The long, untamed hair had given her more than enough grief, yet it had been her most salient identifying characteristic; she almost felt like she didn't know who that was staring back at her out of the mirror.

Ginny tucked one of the locks behind Hermione's ear. "Look, now you can see your neck and the shape of your face. You look much more feminine."

Hermione glared at her. "Thanks."

"Not that you didn't before," Ginny laughed. Hermione had told her about 'Pouffe'. "But, you know, it makes you look softer."

"Just what I need," Hermione snapped, "for the students to think I'm an old softie."

"Also more serious," Ginny offered. "And no-nonsense. That hair says, 'I'm not taking any crap from you, missie. Or mister.'" She attempted to keep a straight face, but broke up into a fit of snorts and giggles.

Hermione couldn't help joining in.

"You-- You could always wear a head-scarf, like Trelawney," Ginny suggested, wiping her eyes.

"I'd rather shave it off completely," Hermione said firmly.

"And you know, if you really, really hate it, we can have them re-attach it. Look." She bent over and picked up one of the long tresses from the floor and held it up to Hermione's head. "_Adhesum_."

Hermione gasped and grabbed at the hair. "You didn't just--"

Ginny stepped back and laughed at Hermione, who was yanking hard on the length of hair that was now permanently re-attached.

"You evil little witch!" Hermione scolded her."_Snipsit_!" The hair fell away again.

"Now come on and stop bitching about it," Ginny said, hauling her friend out of the chair. "You'd think you actually cared how you look."

Hermione paid for the haircut and pulled her woolen hat down firmly over her head before the two of them joined the late afternoon crowd in Diagon Alley.

...xOxOxOx...

"What is it, Lupin?" Snape regarded the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher coldly from behind his desk.

"I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a predicament," Remus admitted, crossing the room.

Snape exhaled through flared nostrils, expressing his irritation. "What is it this time." _And it had better have nothing at all to do with a certain Muggleborn professor._

"I've received an owl this afternoon from a group of old acquaintances in London. They've asked me to join them this evening for an urgent meeting."

"And this is of interest to me because...?"

Lupin looked Snape in the eye, deadly serious. "It's the werewolves, Severus. They're calling a meeting."

Snape frowned. "What in the world for?"

"That's just what I'd like to know. I'll have to go, of course." His face looked paler than usual, his features tense.

Snape nodded his agreement. "Yes. And you wish me to take over your duties here?"

"No, actually, I was hoping that you would accompany me."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Me? Accompany you to a meeting of werewolves? You must be mad." Even though the moon was waning, there were those who, in the tradition of the now incarcerated Fenrir Greyback, would think nothing of attacking humans just for sport.

"Not that they'd know you were there, of course," Remus added quickly. "That would be too dangerous. But I don't trust them." In the Second War against Voldemort, the vast majority of the werewolves had sided with the Dark Lord. Only a handful, Remus included, had fought on the winning side. The defeated survivors, those who hadn't been convicted of War Crimes anyway, had withdrawn and resumed their shadowy existence on the fringes of wizard society, tolerated by the Ministry only as long as no attacks could be laid at their feet.

"It could be a trap," Remus went on, his anxiety evident. "If I could think of any other way..."

"Why don't you ask someone else...Hagrid?" Snape suggested. "They'd hardly dare attack you with him acting as your protector."

_Merlin forbid he ask Hermione! But even he will have sense enough not to do that._

"But that's the point: I don't want them to know I've brought a protector. I want them to think I trust them. Maybe there is a new plan afoot. I'll need to know about it, so that I can warn people." Now Remus became more strident. "Severus, you're the only one, and you know it. I need a wizard highly trained in combative spells, someone who excels as concealment, and it doesn't hurt that you'll probably recognize many of them from-- Well, from back then."

Snape pressed his lips together into a thin line. _If it is a trap, which is all too likely, he won't stand a chance on his own. What concern is that of mine, however? He knows the risks; he doesn't have to go. Any more than I had to go back to the Death Eaters upon the Dark Lord's second rise to power. Damn!_

...xOxOxOx...

"Give over." Ginny reached for another piece of extra-gooey pizza. "What brought on the sudden desire for a makeover?"

"I told you, I'd had enough of people making fun of my hair."

"You've had that same hair ever since I've known you. What is that...ten years?"

"Eleven," Hermione corrected her. "Twelve if you count my first year at Hogwarts, before you started. I saw you at the train station when you saw Ron off." And actually, she'd had the same hairstyle for her entire childhood, starting from when her hair had grown out after she'd magically set fire to it when she was seven.

"So," Ginny summarized, once she'd swallowed her bite, "you've had the same hair for twelve years, all through puberty and adolescence, the time when girls are most sensitive about their looks, and you never changed anything, and now, all of a sudden, you're upset because you found out the students are calling you 'Pouffe'. Which you don't even know for sure refers to your hair."

"You make it sound so implausible."

Ginny gave Hermione a very good Molly look. "There is a man involved. You're either trying to impress someone who said that he doesn't like how you look, or you're trying to get over someone. I know-- Oh my God." Ginny looked at Hermione with wide eyes. "It isn't Ron, is it? When you saw him over Christmas--"

"No, it isn't Ron," Hermione said testily.

"Ah-ha! So there is someone!" Ginny cried triumphantly, pointing at Hermione with her pizza.

"No, there isn't," Hermione insisted.

"I knew it! Who is it then!"

Knowing that Ginny wouldn't give up until Hermione threw her a bone, she sighed. "All right, there was someone; I thought I fancied him a bit, but he wasn't interested. It was too good to be true anyway. Happy?" She didn't need to go into all the sordid details.

Ginny frowned. "No, of course I'm not happy. Well, he must have been a jerk not to like you back."

"Can we just drop it? Look, we'd better get going. We should be at the stadium in about half an hour, and I don't know the area well enough to Apparate. We'll have to take the Tube."

...xOxOxOx...

"Are you sure this is right?" Snape slithered through the crowd, his long form clad in a smooth black leather jacket and black trousers.

"It does look a bit of a strange place to hold a secret meeting," Remus agreed as they approached the stadium. "There will be meeting rooms inside, though, private boxes and the like. Possibly they picked a rather public place because none of them trust the others. This way there's less chance one of them will run amok and kill everyone else."

"Possible," Snape grudgingly agreed. "Do you have any further specifics as to the meeting place once we're inside?"

"Oh yes, right here," Remus patted the pocket of his dark blue windcheater, where he had two oblongs of card. "Tells us exactly where to go."

...xOxOxOx...

"Do you mean to tell me they're going to play the entire game down there on the grass?" Minerva looked disdainfully down her nose at the expanse of green below them.

"Can't exactly fly now, can they?" Hagrid pointed out from where he sat sprawled in a gigantic purple upholstered armchair.

"But how...mundane." Minerva sighed and leaned back in her seat. "I suppose we did promise Angelina. Where is she, anyway?"

"Probably downstairs squeezing goodness," Hermione said cryptically.

Minerva gave her a quizzical look, but Hermione just shook her head, grinning to herself. Angelina (or, more likely, her boyfriend) had procured a private box for them, which had been quite thoughtful; not only for the view and the comfort, but because it meant that they could use magic without fear of drawing attention to themselves. Already, in addition to Hagrid's having claimed half of the territory in the box for himself and replaced the flimsy wooden flip-up seats with the armchair, Professor Flitwick had levitated his chair so that he could see properly over the balustrade, and John Smith, the Muggle Studies professor, had produced three Omnioculars, which they were taking turns in passing amongst themselves, surveying the crowd. Professor Smith, in his element, was taking copious notes of the entire event with a Quick Quotes Quill. "What a marvellous opportunity to watch them up close, without revealing oneself," he enthused. "I will have to ask Angelina whether we can bring my Advanced class sometime."

At that moment, the door behind them opened. "Nachos, anyone?" Angelina came in, carrying a take-away bag full of Muggle snacks, which the professors eagerly divided up amongst themselves.

"Hey, where's Reem?" she asked, settling herself into a seat in the front row and propping her feet up against the ledge, with a packet of crisps and a can of orange squash floating in the air in front of her.

Everyone looked around, noting his absence. "I thought he'd be coming with you, Hermione?" Minerva queried.

"No, I met up with Ginny earlier," Hermione said. "I'm pretty sure he was going to come, though. He said he was going to when I talked to him a couple of days ago." She wondered with a vague feeling of unease whether something had happened to him.

"OK, everyone, look now!" Angelina directed, pointing down at the field. "They're announcing the players! Ooh, there's my Dougal!" She clapped enthusiastically.

...xOxOxOx...

"This must be it," Remus said, comparing the numbers on his ticket with the writing on the door.

"I don't like this," Snape growled. "Something isn't right."

"Yes, it is," Remus insisted.

Snape looked around the brightly lit corridor; one wall was lined with closed doors, the other was blank. _There's no place for me to conceal myself here; I'll have to use the Disillusionment Charm and slip in with Moony. Damn! That won't work; they'll smell me._

"I'll have to stay out here," Snape said. "I'll use an Extendable Ear to keep track of their meeting." He took a roll of pink string out of his pocket. The Weasley twins were good for something after all.

"Hold on," Remus said, recommending temperance. "Let's go in first, see who's there."

"What?" Snape recoiled and took a step back. "You can't expect me to walk into a room full of hostile werewolves!"

"Come on, Severus. Could be they're friendly after all." Remus smiled at him encouragingly and reached for the door handle.

_Great Merlin, he's delivering me to them! _

Snape reached for his wand just as Remus flung the door open. "Sorry we're late," he announced cheerfully to the occupants of the room.

"Remus! There you are!" a woman's voice called out.

_That sounds like...Minerva?_

Snape peered into the room, his wand drawn.

_Good gods in the heavens, it's worse than a room full of werewolves._

"And Severus!" Minerva exclaimed in delight. "I didn't think you'd be joining us."

"I thought you said he wouldn't be here!" Ginny hissed at Hermione.

"I didn't think he would!" Hermione hissed back, scrunching down in her seat and pulling her hat down more firmly over her ears. Maybe he wouldn't see her.

"Lupin..." Snape glared daggers at Remus.

"I managed to convince him," Remus told the room goodnaturedly, holding the door open. Snape had no choice but to stalk in. "Oh look, there's a seat free over here. John, you don't mind, do you?"

The Muggle Studies teacher obligingly stood up and moved over one so that there were two empty seats next to Hermione. Snape attempted to take the further one, but Remus slipped in underneath him, so that Snape was left with the choice of either sitting on Remus's lap or sitting directly next to Hermione.

_He'll pay for this. Meddlesome git. He's as bad as Albus. Worse!_

Snape sat down on the empty chair with his back straight as a ramrod.

Hermione wanted to sink through the floor. Remus had obviously dragged Snape along, in an attempt to get the two of them together. She knew he was only trying to help, but this was too much.

Hermione leaned forward and said through her teeth, with as much politesse as she could muster, "Hi, Remus. Professor Snape."

"Hi, Hermione, hi, Ginny!" Remus replied with a toothy grin. Snape grunted a monosyllable without moving a muscle.

She glared at Remus and pursed her lips. "What a surprise."

"Game started yet?" Remus inquired innocently, looking down at the field.

"Yeah, look, here comes the kick-off," Angelina reported, oblivious to the tense undercurrents going on behind her.

Hermione turned to Ginny and pleaded, "Will you trade seats with me?"

"No way!" Ginny retorted, horror written all over her face. "I only agreed to come in the first place because _he_ wouldn't be here."

"It's not like I can hear you, you know," Snape murmured icily.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and scowled.

"Look, there's Dougal!" Angelina exclaimed, batting her floating crisps packet out of the way so that she could lean forward over the railing. "Go, baby!" she screamed.

The crisps flew toward Ginny, who grabbed them out of mid-air. "Crisp?" Ginny held the packet out to Hermione and shook it invitingly. Hermione fished a few out and crunched them crossly.

It didn't look like there was anything for it. Without appearing to be outright rude, she would have to sit out the game next to Severus. If only he didn't look so damn good in those Muggle clothes! She took some satisfaction in the knowledge that he hated Muggle clothing and was probably burning up with resentment at having to wear them tonight. She could smell the leather of his jacket, and as he had sat down, she had caught a whiff of what she now identified as Severus' personal smell, both tangy and a little sweet, like wine or cider. She crunched her crisps more crossly. Maybe she could finagle a change of seats at halftime.

_She is disgusted by my presence. They both are. I can't say that I blame them. I am disgusting. _

...xOxOxOx...

"Fascinating," said Professor Smith. "What is the meaning of this ritual?" He was gazing with rapt attention at the stands opposite, where the fans were standing en masse in staggered groups, creating the effect of a rippling motion.

"That's called the Wave," Angelina explained. "When it gets to us, stand up...OK, here it comes... Now!" She stood and raised her hands into the air, then sat back down. Everyone except Snape and Minerva joined in. The floor of the box shook threateningly when Hagrid sat back down, and Minerva gave him a pointed look.

Hermione had decided to ignore Snape and do her best to enjoy the evening. Ginny had managed to replicate the sound of an air horn with her wand, and was using it prodigiously whenever Dougal's team was fouled. Hermione had appropriated a pair of the Omnioculars, using them to record particularly aesthetic displays of musculature and making much ado over viewing the replays with Ginny. She hoped it was getting up Snape's nose.

"And what is the point of this... 'Wave', you said it's called?" John asked, his eyes shining with happiness at having actually participated in a Muggle tradition.

Angelina shrugged. "It's fun. Look, it's going round again."

"Is there a penalty for not joining in?" he asked, following the progress of the motion around the stadium.

"Nope. Just being a spoil sport, I suppose," she answered.

"Come on, Severus, you don't want to be a spoil sport," Remus said.

Snape swiveled his head toward Remus and gave him a deadly look.

"Three-two-one-now!" Angelina led them again. This time, even Minerva joined in.

Hermione and Ginny stood, laughing and standing up tip-toes to stretch their hands up as high as they could reach. Ginny leaned against Hermione a little and knocked her slightly off-balance, so that when she sat back down, she missed her seat by a whisker and slid halfway onto Snape's lap.

Snape reacted immediately by grabbing her upper arms, whether to shove her away or to keep her from slipping onto the floor, she wasn't sure. She turned to look at him, startled, the laughter dying on her lips, her pupils growing wide. "Sorry," she whispered hoarsely, aware of the warmth and bony firmness of his leg underneath hers.

_She's scared of me. Scared I'll do something to her. With reason. I have hurt her before, after all, physically... How satisfying it would be to pull her close now, taste her breath in my mouth..._

He guided her carefully back onto her seat, not letting go until she was firmly settled, and even then he let one hand graze her shoulders as he withdrew it, as if loathe to break the contact completely.

Hermione felt a little dizzy. "Is it just me, or is anyone else hot?" she asked a little breathlessly. She unwrapped her scarf and pulled off her hat, immediately realizing as she felt the cold air hit her scalp that she had now exposed her new haircut to public view.

She glanced at Snape and Remus, who were both watching her with interest.

"Hermione," Remus began, grinning, "wow! That looks... Wow! Very grown-up!"

"Thanks," she mumbled shyly and looked at Snape, who was regarding her with a furrow between his brows.

_Ye gods, she's gone and cut her hair off. Another Muggle fashion? She looks so vulnerable...so young..._

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What?" she challenged. "Never seen a woman's head uncovered before?"

"Whatever possessed you to go and do something like that?" he asked stuffily. "It looks absolutely awful. "

Hermione felt hot anger and shame bubbling up inside her. "Then it's a good thing you'll never get your hands on it again!" She stood up, commanded, "_Via!_" crossly, and stomped out of the row, the seats with their occupants making way for her as she went.

"Hey, Hermione, what happened to your hair?" Hagrid called after her, but she didn't answer, storming out the door.

Ginny rounded on Severus as well. "You sodding bastard! What gives you the right-- Wait. Did she just say... Again? 'You'll never get your hands on it _again'_?" She goggled at the man in black, aghast. "It was you!"

Snape looked at Ginny with wide-eyed indignation. "I beg your pardon."

"You! It was you! She told me she fancied someone, but he wasn't interested. I can't believe it! How dare you! You're a cruel, heartless bastard! You made her feel like nothing! That's why she cut her hair off! She felt like the person she was, wasn't good enough for you! How sick is that! You're the one who isn't good enough for her!" Ginny pointed her wand at Snape and fired off a series of hexes in quick succession. "_Furnunculus! Putricorpus! Cruragenitis!_" All the males in the room cringed along with Snape at the last one, but didn't make any move to stop her. Ginny made to follow Hermione, shouting over her shoulder as Snape's face began to erupt in boils and a vile stench arose from his body, "Not that you'll be able to tell any difference!"

"Come on, we'd better get you fixed up," Remus said, trying to help Snape to his feet while keeping a maximum distance between them. They didn't have any difficulty getting out of the row, as everyone flinched back and covered their noses as they approached. As soon as they were standing free, Remus Apparated them to the gates of Hogwarts.

_AN: I kid you not, there is actually a town in England named Frisby on the Wreake. 'Crura' is Latin for 'shrivelled'. You figure it out. _


	20. Chapter 20 Pain and Dignity

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

**CHAPTER 20**

**Dignity and Pain**

As soon as they were standing free, Remus Apparated them to the gates of Hogwarts. There, Snape snarled and wrenched himself out of Remus's grip.

"I am perfectly capable of making it back to my quarters on my own!" He began to walk across the moonlit grounds with as much dignity as he could, given the fact that the boils were chafing painfully.

"Oh no you don't, I'm taking you to Madam Pomfrey," Remus insisted, catching up with him but staying on the downwind side.

"I have a salve that will take care of the skin problem, and the stench will wear off on its own. I welcome it, in fact; it will keep troublemakers like you at a distance!"

"And...the other problem?" Remus inquired tactfully.

"I have no desire to allow Poppy to poke around at my privates!" he snapped.

_And anyway, it's not as if I will have any further opportunities to use them. It is, I must admit, a just punishment._

Remus shrugged. "Wear your hair shirt if you wish."

"I hope it is clear to you that if you should ever attempt to manipulate me in a manner like that again, you'll wish you _had_ walked into a den full of bloodthirsty werewolves."

"You did hurt her, you know," Remus said after a bit.

"It does look terrible," Snape growled, referring to Hermione's hair.

"I don't just mean that; she's been acting odd for the past couple of weeks."

_Since that night in my quarters... _"Sod off," Snape snapped. _She knew what she was getting herself into._

"What I don't understand is," Remus continued conversationally, "are you trying to punish her, or yourself?"

Snape stopped walking and turned on Remus, his face a quarter profile of paleness in the shadows. "What makes you think that there is any punishment involved? Could it not simply be that she deluded herself into the belief that I was a decent human being and that discovering the truth was an unpleasant but necessary shock to her system?" _This is the very spot where she conjured the wall of light to stop me that night...the very spot she put those ideas into my head._ Snape shivered.

"And what is the truth?"

"Didn't you hear Miss Weasley?" Snape taunted. "I am a heartless, cruel bastard."

"We all knew that before," Remus scoffed. "Hermione was able to see beyond that. Something must have happened."

"You want to know what I did? I fucked her, Moony! I used her body for my pleasure, and then I told her to get lost."

Remus became very still. "You sodding bastard."

Snape nodded shortly. "As I said, Miss Weasley got it right in one." He continued hobbling toward the castle, in real pain now.

Remus grabbed his arm and wrenched him around, forcing the point of his wand into Snape's throat. "Did you force her?" he asked, low and threatening. "Did you use any kind of physical or magical coercion on her? Because if you did, my friend, you're going to be the one wishing those were werewolves there tonight."

Snape laughed once, a harsh, cruel sound. "No. She offered herself to me. She wanted me, and I gave her what she asked for," he taunted. "I believe she even enjoyed it. Up to a point," he added in a low mutter. _Her delighted smile when I led her to the bedroom, her soft moans of pleasure when I touched her...And then her tentative touch on my back when I turned away, her sudden stillness. _

Remus hesitated, still keeping his wand trained on Snape. "And then?"

Snape spat the words back at Remus: "And then! And then! And then I was done with her!" He swatted Lupin's wand away and turned stiffly back toward the castle.

Remus dogged his steps, pursuing him with bitter words. "Did you find her lacking, then? Did you tire of her so quickly?"

_Tire of her? Never in a thousand years. _

They had nearly reached the castle. Instead of going up the stone steps to the main entrance, however, Snape veered to the right and followed a narrow path, almost invisible in the shadow of the castle wall, which led directly to the dungeons.

"Yes, Lupin, I tired of her. You can have her," Snape sneered over his shoulder.

"You filthy bastard. Why are you so callous?"

Snape walked several metres further before pausing to say, quietly, "It's all I know how to do." He sounded suddenly weary. When he reached the dungeon entrance, he waved his wand and spoke the words to release the magical locks.

Remus caught up with him and put his hand across the door, blocking Snape from entering. "And if you knew how to do it differently? What then?" He spoke calmly now, almost sympathetically.

Snape looked at Remus, one eye almost swollen closed with a huge boil. "I would never let her go," he rasped.

...xOxOxOx...

"Hermione, forget what he said! He doesn't know what he's talking about." Ginny had tracked Hermione down to the ladies' toilets, where Hermione had taken a page out of Moaning Myrtle's book of tricks and caused a minor flood in order to clear the room of other patrons. Hermione was now sitting cross-legged on a toilet seat, while Ginny was standing in front of her, having cast a Bubble-Foot Charm on herself in order to spare her suede boots.

"I don't care what he thinks," Hermione said through her red and swollen nose.

"Good."

"It's just that he always manages to make me look stupid."

"He didn't make you look stupid, he made himself look stupid. And I made him look even stupider." Ginny grinned broadly.

"Oh, Ginny, you shouldn't have. Now he'll hate me even more," Hermone moaned.

"First of all, it was me who hexed him, not you, so if anything he should hate me. And secondly, how could he hate you _more_? I mean, no offense," she quickly backtracked, seeing Hermione's hurt expression, "but he always hated all of us: anyone who was either Gryffindor or a friend of Harry's, and you were both the top student in Gryffindor and Harry's best friend. You must have been right up at the top of his list."

Hermione was silent for a moment, trying to decide how much to tell Ginny. She'd never be as understanding as Ron, but maybe she could tell her part of it. "Things have been different since I've been teaching," she began slowly. "I found some stuff out about him."

"Like what?"

"Like what happened that night on the Astronomy Tower...you know, when Dumbledore was killed. It wasn't what we thought." She proceeded to outline what she had found out.

When she had finished, Ginny looked skeptical. "So you think he's really a good guy?"

"He is," Hermione insisted. "In the sense of morality and ethics, anyway. In the sense of interpersonal relations, I admit it, he's a bastard." She hid her head in her hands, her fingers rubbing at the unfamiliar sensation of her shorn locks.

"I'm glad you at least see that part clearly. So is that what you meant when you said you were interested in him? That you saw his good side?"

Hermione looked back up at Ginny. "Yes and no. I always felt that he must have a good side. I mean, Dumbledore always defended him, so there must have been something there. I guess I agreed with what Remus said once: he trusted Dumbledore's judgment, and that's why he trusted Severus. That's why I started looking into Dumbledore's death in the first place. And then as I found out more about Severus's past, and about him, he became more than just a... I don't know, it's like he wasn't just fulfilling roles anymore: he wasn't just the Greasy Git, or the Potions Master, or a Death Eater, or Dumbledore's murderer, or Voldemort's betrayer. He became a person: Severus. I saw his suffering, and his power, and his weaknesses, and his strengths. He became human to me. And I...liked him." She finished with a slightly embarrassed shrug.

"But he didn't like you."

"Well, I think he did," Hermone hedged, "a little, maybe more, but something happened and he pushed me away."

"What happened?"

"I don't know exactly," Hermione said carefully. She wasn't ready to share the extent of her intimacy, and humiliation, with Ginny. "Maybe he felt I was getting too close." Now that she thought about it, that might very well have been the main reason.

"I think you should forget about him. There are much better guys out there."

"Like your brother?" Hermione managed a grin.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Please. Mum's the only one who's still hoping for a wedding out of you two."

Hermione sighed. "Poor Molly. I think it broke her heart more than mine or Ron's when we broke up."

"And it'd absolutely kill her if she knew you were considering You-Know-- I mean, Snape, over Ron now."

"It's not a choice of one over the other," Hermione reminded her.

"That's not what I meant. But...you're not still seriously considering him, are you?"

"It's not really up to me anymore, Ginny. There's nothing more I can do. Nothing more I'm willing to do." She'd given it a good shot, given him plenty of chances.

"But...what if he suddenly decided he _did_ fancy you?"

"That's not likely to happen, now is it." Hermione didn't even want to let herself consider it. It would only drive her crazy. Again. She reached out a hand to Ginny. "Come on, we'd better get back to the game. I'll never hear the end of it if Dougal scores and I've missed it."

...xOxOxOx...

"I could never make her happy, Lupin. I hurt her and used her." Snape leaned carefully back in his leather armchair before the fire. He was wearing a dressing gown, and his bare arms and legs sticking out were covered with a white paste, as was his face.

Remus scooted the chair he'd taken from the work table closer, but not too close. Snape still stank. "You hurt her by using her. There's a difference."

Snape scowled. "I don't know how to do anything else."

"You're afraid to try."

"She's better off without me," he replied irritably. "Why that isn't clear to everyone is beyond my considerable powers of reason."

"That's very noble of you, of course," Remus conceded. "I was also noble once. I knew that Nymphadora was in love with me. Wanted to bear my children, etcetera, etcetera." He waved one hand in the air with a dismissive flourish. "All that tedious female nonsense. She was obviously too good for me, though. Young, beautiful, promising career in the Auror Department. I didn't want to saddle her with an aging, impoverished werewolf. So I did the noble thing. Turned her away, broke her heart. How was I to know she'd die in the War? She could at least have died happy, knowing that she was loved. Hell, I could have at least had a year or two of happiness for that matter, the only shot I ever had at it in this life." His brisk tone changed to one of melancholy. "Who knows; if there'd been an 'us', maybe she would've been a little more careful...But, that is speculation for another time. The point here is, that Hermione is at the very least, fond of you. Or she was, before you so spectacularly blew it. Merlin knows why, but there it is, and you are obviously fond of her as well."

"And what makes you so certain of that?" Snape asked coolly.

"Because in all the conversations we have had on this subject lo these many months, never once has the phrase 'I don't care for her' passed your lips."

Snape shrugged. "I don't care for her."

"Liar." Remus grinned. "Now, there is a beautiful, highly intelligent, very brave young witch up there--" he waved his hand toward the upper part of the castle, "--who is willing, even eager, to make a go of it with you. All you have to do is grovel at her feet and beg her forgiveness."

"I can't do that."

"Of course you can. And you will."

"What am I supposed to say, 'I'm sorry I'm such a bastard?'"

"That'd be good for a start."

"I can't apologize for who I am, Lupin! This is me, if she doesn't like it, she should turn her attentions elsewhere, as I told her!"

"Yes..." Remus considered. "I suppose you're right. But that doesn't give you the right to be rude to everyone. And especially not to walk all over someone whom you supposedly care for."

Snape was silent for a moment, gazing into the fire. Then he murmured, "She once told me, the only thing she expected of me was that I respect her."

"I think that's a fair start."

...xOxOxOx...

"Severus." Hermione stood in her doorway, suddenly at a loss for words. She'd never expected him to call on her again. His face was marked with dull brown blotches where the boils were healing. Beyond that, he looked tired.

_I cannot do this. I will be giving her too much power over me. She will humiliate me, laugh in my face. _

"Hermione," he said stiffly.

They stood like that, awkwardly staring at each other. Hermione reached up and smoothed down the hair at the back of her neck. She wasn't sure whether she should still be angry at him because of the hair remark from the previous evening, or whether she should indicate through cool detachment that she didn't consider him important enough to get upset over, or, alternatively, whether she should try and give him a guilt trip for being such a bastard.

"Erm...yes?" she said.

"Might I...come in?" His tone was quite neutral.

Now it was Hermione's turn to become stiff. Detachment seemed to be the way to go. "I don't think that would serve any useful purpose." As if he thought he would be able to enter and woo her as before!

Three Gryffindor students passed by on their way to their dorms. They glanced curiously at the Potions Master standing outside of Professor Granger's private quarters, but quickly scurried away under his glare.

"I do not wish to make a public scene," he said through his teeth, once the teens had passed through the portrait hole to their Common Room. And then he did something unusual. He added, "Please."

Hermione still hesitated, indecisive. "What do you want?"

_She is afraid of being alone with me. I can't blame her. This much destruction of her trust have I wrought already._

"Just to talk," he said.

Hermione acquiesced with a short nod and stood back to allow him to enter. Once he was inside, she closed the door, but remained standing beside it and did not offer him a seat.

Snape regarded the woman before him. The woman he had very nearly made love to. The subdued nighttime lighting cast her face in a soft glow. Her broad forehead was softened by the short locks of hair curling down over it, but the rest of her features now seemed more prominent, sharper, without the distraction of the long hair flying about.

_Remus was right. She looks older. And more hardened. Or perhaps that has nothing to do with the hairstyle and everything to do with her experiences with me. _

"Well?" she prompted, crossing her arms.

Snape gave himself a mental shove. "I have to apologize for my comments last night. My opinion is of no value and I should not have given it."

Hermione snorted. "Is that supposed to be an apology?"

"Yes," he hissed. _I knew she'd make it difficult!_

"Backhanded fishing for compliments is more like it. Of course your opinions are of value to me!" So much for making him think he wasn't important. "That's why it hurt to hear you say it," she added quietly.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." The words seemed stilted, as if he were having to overcome a great internal barrier to utter them.

"Of course you did! You were angry at being forced to sit next to me, and you wanted to make it clear to me that it hadn't been your choice, and that you didn't want anything to do with me."

Snape's brow furrowed. "Once again, you believe that you know my thoughts and feelings better than I."

"Yes, I think I do. Or at least--" She backtracked, tried a different tack. "Most of the time, I have absolutely no idea what's going on in that crazy head of yours, but you think you're some sort of nothing, an irrevocably lost soul, thoroughly heartless and cruel. But that's not who you are. You didn't Curse Dumbledore, or at least you didn't think you could, you knew you didn't have that hatred in you. You protected Harry, saved his life time and time again, even though you couldn't stand him. You--"

Snape's eyes had taken on a dangerous glint. "How do you know what passed between myself and Albus?" he interrupted her quickly.

Hermione faltered. She realized she had never talked to him about what she had found out. "I-- I saw the trial. The transcript. I talked to his portrait," she started to explain.

"Who gave you the right to do that?" His voice was rising in volume.

Hermione refused to be intimidated by this man. She uncrossed her arms and let them hang down by her sides, her hands loose and ready to reach for her wand. "_I _did," she said, jutting her chin up at him. "I took the right. You were pleased to let the wizarding world believe you to be a monster, a murderer, and a traitor. I didn't believe that, and I took it upon myself to find the truth."

"And what truth do you believe that you found? You think me noble? You think I spared Albus something? I was a coward!" he snarled. "I betrayed his trust in me! I couldn't even give him the dignity of a quick and painless death, as we had agreed. I had to resort to throwing him off the Tower like some rag doll! Such is my nobility."

"It was an awful, awful choice. You shouldn't have had to make it." Hermione could feel her eyes filling with tears. "It was unfair of him to make you do it." Her hands involuntarily balled into fists.

Snape shook his head vehemently. "Nobody made me do anything. I bear full responsibility for every mistake I have ever made." _And my life is full of nothing but mistakes._

"But you can't keep bearing all of them. You have to let them go."

"They are made, they cannot be taken back."

"Some of them maybe can't. But some of them you can, and others you can make up for, and the rest...I guess you just have to forgive yourself for." Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Severus...I forgive you." She opened her eyes, sought out his, and repeated the words, truly meaning them. "I forgive you." For everything. All the insults, debasements, and humiliations.

_How dare she have the gall to forgive me! Thinks she can stand in judgment over me, doling out favours like a beneficient patron. Really, this whole haircut thing is being blown way out of proportion. It's not like I... humiliated her. In private and in front of her friends. Or trivialized her work. Or pointed out her shortcomings. Or taunted her over Potter's death. Or let her think that I cared for her, encouraged her feelings, and then stomped all over them in order to nurture my own guilt...and because I was afraid of what was happening to me._

Snape felt a tightness in his throat and swallowed convulsively in an attempt to maintain control.

"Now, can you forgive yourself?" Hermione asked gently.

"I'm not...worthy--" he began.

"Severus, stop it," she cut him off testily. "Of course you're worthy. You're a brilliant wizard, you're loyal and responsible; all right," she admitted, "you're maybe not the most polite man I know, but that's what makes your opinion so valuable, because I know if you ever do say something nice, you really mean it." Like what he'd said about her kissing him. That had been real, she was sure.

"I'm not worthy of _you_." But now, although outwardly still formal and unrelaxed, there was a deeper meaning in his tone of voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes impatiently, trying not to pay too much attention to the fluttering in her breast. "Fishing for compliments again," she chided, and continued, "I'll decide who's worthy of me. Although, if that's just a roundabout way of you saying you don't like me, you know, in that way, then in this case, I'd much prefer you come right out and say it." Her heart was pounding in her throat, knowing that this was their last chance. His last chance.

"That's not what I meant."

She could barely restrain herself from grinning like a fool. "Oh. I see." She fidgeted with the material of her teaching robes, which she was still wearing. "Well, in that case. Can I offer you a cup of tea?"

Snape inclined his head with a hint of a smile. "That would be quite welcome."

Hermione started toward the cupboard, trying to restrain herself from throwing her arms around him, but as she passed him, he reached out and grabbed her arm. Gently, with a caress of his thumb. Hermione's breath caught and she stopped, looking up at him.

"I will never give you reason to fear again." His eyes searched hers, asking silently for permission, which she willingly gave. The kiss was full of longing, a desire to please, and a desire to be loved, and when Hermione looked into Severus's eyes again, she saw that they were as shiny as her own.

"Uh...wow." Hermione struggled to remember what she'd been about to do. "I guess that means...no tea?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "If you'd like tea...?"

"No. I'd much rather...talk." Hermione ducked her head and took Snape's hand, leading him to the couch, where she pulled him down next to her.

"Severus," she began hesitantly, "what...made you change your mind?"

"Change my mind?"

"Well yes," she laughed lightly, "you made it clear that...after we were together that time...you didn't want to see me anymore, and yesterday you couldn't stand to be near me, and now... Well, I just don't like the feeling of being jerked around like a Pingo-Poingo," she said, referring to the Wizard equivalent of a yoyo.

He looked down at their hands, holding each other, and squeezed hers. "I think once again you mistook my meaning. I was, in a foolish way, trying to protect you from me. I never wanted to hurt you intentionally, but I knew that I had, and that I would continue to do so."

"Why?" And the unspoken question: would he, even now, continue to hurt her?

"So many reasons. I was...fearful of the feelings you stirred in me. Unsure how to control them. Unable to do so. My whole existence, my very life, has depended on control." _Don't do magic. Don't cry when Daddy hits Mummy. Ignore the Marauders' taunts. Don't let them know they're hurting you. Keep your thoughts blank. Ignore the screams. Detach yourself from the act._ He squeezed her hand harder, harder than he had meant to.

"Severus." Her voice brought him back. Her face was full of concern.

"I lost control," he rasped. "I lost control that...time. I was ashamed."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know...that's how you felt. I thought I'd done something wrong. I think...I think if you'd tell me how you felt sometimes, then I wouldn't misunderstand you."

"It's not easy to put such things into words...especially in certain situations." It was clear that speaking of emotions and intimacy was uncomfortable for him.

Hermione put her palm against his cheek and leaned in to kiss him softly on the lips once, twice. "Does that tell you how I feel?" she whispered.

Snape put his arm around her waist and pulled her body against his while he sought her mouth once again. She parted her lips and he delved his tongue in between them, finding a welcoming warmth that reminded him of--

_Damn. Damn that Weasley titch._

"Hermione," he said, "I think perhaps tonight, we should exercise a certain restraint."

...xOxOxOx...

The light was changing in the room, indicating the start of the day. Although it was still very early, Hermione knew she wasn't going to get any more rest by staying where she was. It was nice to know that they had spent the night in each other's arms, but it was bloody uncomfortable now, having stayed in basically the same position on a narrow couch the entire time. Additionally, she could tell that he was also awake. "Morning," she murmured, tentatively lifting herself off his chest.

"Morning," he replied, testing whether he still had any feeling in his arms.

She turned her face toward him with a wry smile. "Sleep well?"

"No. You?"

Hermione grinned. "Not a wink."

Snape frowned and carefully extricated himself from underneath her. He sat on the edge of the couch and did up the top three buttons of his shirt.

Hermione crouched behind him and slid her hands around to his front, feeling his stomach and chest underneath the cotton.

"I'm glad you stayed," she murmured into his shoulder blade, kissing it through the fabric.

Snape grunted. "Next time, perhaps we could find a more comfortable arrangement."

_After I've visited Poppy. Or, on second thought, I'll take the afternoon off and pay a call on the Healers at St Mungo's. The thought of having to look her in the face after she's examined my problem. No. Definitely St Mungo's._

"I think I might have a couple of ideas on that." She smiled and rubbed her forehead against his back. "Does this mean that you're not going to change your mind again?"

"I might very well if I have to spend the night on your couch again."

"Are you always this grumpy in the morning?" Hermione pouted.

"Yes," he replied brusquely, at the same time realizing how churlish that sounded. Then, remembering the lesson from the previous night, he twisted around enough to get his arms around Hermione and kissed her on the cheek, on the corner of her jaw below her ear, on her neck, and finally at the base of her throat.

"Oh good," she sighed in delight.

...xOxOxOx...

"Morning, Reem." Angelina bounded up onto the platform with the Staff Table, where most of the teachers were already well into their breakfast of kippers and sausages. "Hermione skipping breakfast again?" she noted with a cluck of her tongue. "Girl's going to make herself sick." She poured an enormous number of sausages onto her plate.

"Hmm," Remus agreed. "I'll make sure she comes in for lunch."

"She's probably still pissed that you brought the Evil Bat along. You ruined her whole evening, you know. Never mind the rest of us."

Remus sighed. "He isn't evil. He has just as much right as the rest of us to enjoy an evening out. Although, I agree, perhaps I didn't exercise the best judgment this time."

"Damn straight," she said around a mouthful of sausage.

The door from the staff corridor opened behind them, and they both turned to see Hermione enter, looking not at all well-rested. She yawned hugely and plopped down between Remus and Angelina, then sat there blinking.

Remus frowned. "Coffee?" he offered, levitating the pot toward Hermione. She nodded absent-mindedly and pushed her cup a fraction of an inch forward.

"Hermione?" Angelina leaned forward to examine her friend's face. "Are you sick?"

Hermone shook her head, the start of a smile at the corner of her lips.

"Bad night?"

Her lips twitched a little more. "No."

"What, then?"

Hermione picked up her cup, now full of steaming hot coffee. "Severus," she said.

Angelina was immediately on alert. "Snape? What did he do now?"

Hermione grinned. "He snogged me senseless."

_AN: Well, folks, that's about it. Sorry that Snape got a little goopy there. It was just a momentary weakness, I assure you. Read the epilogue to see how it all turns out. And if you liked this, you might also like my next SSHG (not a sequel): A Capacity for Love._


	21. Chapter 21 Epilogue

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_AN: I can see how the ending of the last chapter felt abrupt, but to me, Hermione's last line meant, "I publicly acknowledge my relationship with Severus, and I'm happy about it." And Severus's actions earlier that morning meant, "I am willing to expose myself emotionally and trust another person not to hurt me." And those were the two barriers I was trying to get them past, so to me, the task which I had set out to write was completed. However, I'd still like to share with you my little vision of how their life together would have proceeded. And, yes, give you one big, fat, juicy grape (well, actually a lemon) to go home with._

_WARNING: This chapter is rated M (R)._

**Survivors - Epilogue**

"I hope you're not planning on mentioning the appointment tonight. There'll be enough false congratulations as it is." Snape stood looking tensely into the middle distance of their bedroom while his wife adjusted his collar.

"Of course I'm going to mention it. They'll all know in a couple of weeks anyway, and they'll be so disappointed that we kept it from them." She smoothed the material down and plucked away a long gray hair which had drifted down onto his robe. "And no one's congratulations will be false." She smiled up at him, putting her arms around his waist, which was just as slim as it had been thirty years earlier. He wore his hair in the same style as well, shoulder-long and straight, but it had become thinner and gray, and left him with a prominent forehead.

He looked down at her brown eyes behind the small round glasses she had to wear all the time now. They were full of warmth and love, which had grown with the experiences of their shared life. Though he had continued to be ostracized and vilified, Hermione had stood behind him and given him a reason to keep living; more than that, to thrive. She had encouraged him to take up his potions and spell research again, and he had contributed much to both fields, which success had led to him being viewed with something approaching regard in the wizarding world, or at least among the more educated members thereof. His name would, however, forever be associated with the murder of Dumbledore; their daughter had already encountered some not insignificant prejudice, which she met with characteristic temper.

He sighed, trying hard to put on a vexed face. "They'll expect me to make a speech," he said, as if this were an extremely distasteful proposition.

Hermione laughed and squeezed him tighter against her. "It'll be good practice for the start of term feast."

He cocked an eyebrow and put his arms around her comfortably round form as well. "I shall be doing away with that, to start with."

Hermione's face fell. "No, you can't! That's been a Hogwarts tradition for over two hundred years."

"A mere fad, then," he said haughtily. "I always found the interminable wait for dinner during the Sorting and speeches tedious in the extreme, and resented being made to sit through them year after year. As Headmaster, I intend not to do anything I dislike, if at all possible.

"We will set the departure of the Hogwarts Express at half two in the afternoon, rather than half four. They may have tea on the train." Although still called a train, the vehicle in question was one of the newest generation of magnetogliders, originally developed by Muggles, to be sure, but cleverly adapted to the quirks of magical fields. The new technology meant that the trip from London to Hogwarts, previously an all-day undertaking, could now be made in just over an hour. This had necessitated a late departure, in order to maintain the tradition of an evening feast upon arrival. "Upon their arrival," Snape was saying, "we will handle the Sorting as quickly and efficiently as possible. I may even be able to convince the Hat to dispense with those silly rhymes. Then it's off to their common rooms, and let their Heads of House deal with them. Dinner will be a normal affair."

"You're a spoil sport, you know that?" she said with a smile.

"My job will not be to encourage fun, it will be to impose and enforce rules in order to guarantee the highest possible quality of instruction. Now, I suggest that we get going. You've made us late with your talk of this Headmaster business." He stepped back, but not before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek to soften the impact of his words.

Hermione smirked. "I do tend to go on, don't I?"

...xOxOxOx...

"A Muggle restaurant?" Snape stopped short in the lane, a look of aversion on his face. "Could we not, just this once, patronize a wizarding establishment?" They had Flooed in to Diagon Alley, whereupon Hermione had revealed their destination for the evening.

"It belongs to friends of Catie's," she explained, pulling her husband along. "She assured me they're giving us a private room, so we can 'do our tricks', as they put it, without startling the other customers."

"_He_cate," Snape said, putting proper emphasis on the first syllable, which their daughter had dropped as an adult, "spends entirely too much time in the company of Muggles. She doesn't show the proper respect for her heritage. Not unlike many of her generation, I might add," he grumbled, giving a passing youth in Muggle clothing a hard stare. There was hardly a witch or wizard under fifty who wore wizarding dress outside of uniforms or formal attire anymore.

"Tonight she's Catie," Hermione admonished him. "And she's the hostess, and you're the guest of honour. Honour, Severus. She loves you and is trying to honour you."

"I didn't ask her to," he frowned.

"But she _wants_ to. We all want to." Hermione squeezed her husband's hand, feeling the fine bones underneath the pale skin. She had always loved his hands, feeling them in hers, and feeling them on her. They looked delicate but harbored great strength and expressiveness.

Snape looked down at his companion, feeling a familiar surge of affection. He had learned that, although he was generally unworthy of such attention, the mere act of accepting it was a declaration of his love for her. He wasn't good with emotional words; they bogged him down, distracted him and embarrassed him. But he had found that there were many more ways to let her know how he felt about her; much more mutually satisfying ways.

The first time they had made love, really made love, not just had sex, had nearly sent him back into his shell for good. He had been unprepared for the overwhelming rush of pure emotion that he had experienced at witnessing the ecstacy which he had wrought in her, at the knowledge that he had wanted only her pleasure. It had felt so good that it had physically hurt, and his self-protective mechanisms had recoiled from the utter giving up of self that that experience had been. And also from the realization that, once having experienced it, he would crave it again and again. But his personal code of honour, although warped in the eyes of some, hadn't allowed him to reject her again in order to maintain his solitude. And so he had sacrificed himself, as he had so many times before, this time not for a Cause, but for a person. He had let himself go, had willingly allowed another human being to have power over him.

That had been the hardest step, and it hadn't been immediate. The memories of being controlled by father, and, later, master, through humiliation, intimidation, and physical pain, were too powerful for that. But Hermione had continued to love and accept him even when he balked at her. He knew he hadn't made it easy for her, but he had made a consistent and conscientious effort never again to assume the role of the intimidator himself in their relationship. He had been mostly successful, more so with Hermione, perhaps less so with Hecate. Whenever he had caught himself belittling or teasing their daughter, or being tempted to slap her, he had removed himself from the scene; this was in and of itself perhaps not a bad thing, but the result was that, in the main, it had been Hermione who had done the disciplining in their household. He had the feeling that Hecate saw him as a distant father; admittedly, he had been. But he had certainly been better than Tobias; hadn't he?

They had passed through the Leaky Cauldron (under new management since Tom had retired a good decade earlier) and out onto the brightly-lit streets of London. The organic diode lamps illuminated the city to near daylight intensity. Snape much preferred the muted, homely glow of the luminous globes in the wizarding alley. They didn't have far to go, so they walked, not drawing too many odd looks despite their robes. It was hard to shock modern Londoners.

The restaurant was in one of those ancient granite buildings that used to house department stores. Online shopping and cheap import shops had spelled the death of most of the large emporiums, and the buildings had mostly been converted to cramped, overpriced living quarters, some with businesses on the ground floor, like this one.

"You must be here for Cate's party!" a young, bald man greeted them with a toothy smile as they entered. He seemed to have been waiting for them; or at least, for strangers in robes. He was about to lead them through the crowded room when he suddenly turned and did a double take. "You're not-- Are you Professor Snape?" he asked, looking at him curiously.

Snape drew himself up to his full height, which was just slightly greater than the other man's. "I am he," he acknowledged in a tone of voice that betrayed the expectation of a challenge or insult to follow.

"Flip my jig!" the man exclaimed, his face suddenly lighting up in real pleasure. "So you're Catie's old man!" He grabbed Snape's hand and started pumping it up and down. "Thrilling, what she's told us. Wish I could believe half of it." He grinned. "Come on, then, think they're all ready." He gestured for the wizarding couple to follow him to a door in the back of the room.

"Did he say, 'Flip my jig'?" Snape whispered to Hermione incredulously.

"He did," Hermione nodded, holding onto his elbow as they squeezed past the diners.

"Hmgph," Snape grunted.

...xOxOxOx...

"He's here!" the restauranteur announced, throwing open the door to the private dining room with a practiced flourish. It was about half as large as the main dining room, but instead of the cramped clusters of chairs around tiny tables, there were two long banquet tables set up parallel to each other. The room was illuminated, Snape was pleased to see, not with electric lights, but with the same magical candles that were used in Hogwarts.

The loud murmur inside swelled quickly to shouts of greeting as Severus and Hermione's presence was noticed, and then expanded into applause from the two dozen or so witches and wizards who were assembled there. There were some colleagues from Hogwarts, including the recently retired Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall; a couple of members of the old Order of the Phoenix, among them Kingsley Shacklebolt; a few professionals and researchers with whom Snape had worked amicably over the years,; and the Snapes' three best friends: Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley with his wife Chee Sook, and Draco Malfoy with his current companion. The couple stood at the front of the room, Hermione with a wide grin and Snape with a look of discomfiture.

"There you are!" A tall, striking-looking young witch wearing the wide trousers and skimpy halter top that was the current rage of Muggle fashion broke out of the group and approached them with a grin that matched Hermione's. She embraced Hermione warmly, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Hi, Catie," Hermione smiled. "This looks wonderful."

"Happy birthday, Father," Hecate said to Snape, seemingly not knowing exactly how to approach him. She settled for placing a hand on his shoulder and kissing him quickly on the cheek.

"Thank you," Snape replied formally, as ever slightly disconcerted to see his own black eyes looking back at him from a face that was in nearly every other way a replica of Hermione's. She had also inherited his flaccid black hair, but she dealt with it in a manner reminiscent of her mother's one-time drastic response to her own hair problems: she had it cut down to a few millimetres in length.

"Thanks, Enzo," Hecate said to the Muggle who had escorted them in.

"Anything, Catie," he replied affectionately. "Any more show up, I'll fly them back for you."

Snape raised an eyebrow at his daughter. "Fly?"

"Private joke," she muttered, rolling her eyes, and shooed Enzo out with a playful swat. "Now then," she said to the guests, rubbing her hands in anticipation. "What should we have first? Presents, cake, or speeches?"

Snape was already steeling himself for a long, boring, and above all, embarrassing night, when he caught Remus snickering out of the corner of his eye, and Minerva's eyes twinkling merrily.

"Gotcha!" Hecate burst out, pointing at Snape with a look of glee. Everyone else smiled and chuckled.

"Catie," Hermione admonished her, but she, too, was suppressing her amusement.

"I know how much you hate all that stuff," Hecate said, still smiling mischievously. "So come on, sit down, the sooner you eat, the sooner you can get out of here."

...xOxOxOx...

"Thank you for going along with this, Severus," Hermione said some time later, when the meal was well underway. It had been, it must be said, punctuated a couple of times by toasts and congratulations, offered mainly by the academics, and Snape had graciously accepted it all with a polite smile. "It's important to them, you know," Hermione murmured, leaning close to him. "Hecate and your friends. To show how they feel about you."

Snape grunted noncommittally. "How much longer do we have to sit here? My legs are beginning to fall asleep."

"Until they're done paying you their respects," Hermione replied. "And I'll make sure your extremities don't fall asleep." She squeezed his knee under the table.

Snape gave her a sideways look, the corner of his mouth twitching.

...xOxOxOx...

It was nearly midnight by the time Hermione and Severus were able to Floo back to their own house. Truth be told, the wizard was tired. At seventy-five he wouldn't consider himself elderly yet, but pushing the boundaries of middle age. When he thought back to how spry Albus had been during all the years that he had known him...and by the time Snape had started at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had already been over 130. Amazing.

True, mentally, he was as sharp as ever, perhaps even more so; he was able to combine decades of accumulated facts and experiences more quickly, efficiently, and creatively than he ever had. Just in the past five years, he'd registered thirteen new potions, including three that worked in non-humans, achieved major improvements in six more, and made important progress toward spellwork to manipulate time. Up until now, time manipulation had always had to be done mechanically, through a Time Turner or a Flashback, which enabled an individual to relive a short interval of their life. Snape, and others, believed there was also a way to remove oneself from the flow of time by means of a spell.

In terms of his magic as well, then, Snape felt as powerful as ever, if not more so. It took less effort for him to cast spells, and their effects were stronger and lasted longer. His potions were among the most potent available, and he commanded a high price for them.

Physically, however, he had to admit he was no longer in his prime. He couldn't take the dungeon stairs with quite as much verve any more, and he used magic more often to move items around, especially heavier things like cauldrons and vats of liquids. And, he didn't feel the urge to bed Hermione as urgently or as often as twenty, or even ten, years ago. However, tonight, with the occasion having caused him to reflect back on their life together (had he even had a life before her?), his affection for her was surging and making itself physically apparent.

"And? How does it feel to be seventy-five?" Hermione asked as she changed into her nightdress, seemingly reading his thoughts.

"Must you keep reminding me?" he growled, all the while eyeing his wife with approval. She had always had soft, fleshy curves, and the years had only emphasized them.

"It makes me feel important, being married to such a venerable wizard." She flipped her hair out of the back of the gown and adjusted the material around her bosom, flashing Severus a sly smile. She knew that look in his eye all too well. "Go and get ready for bed, Severus."

Ten minutes later, Hermione was already lying comfortably under the covers of her bed when Severus came out of the bathroom, extinguished the light, and slipped into his own bed next to her. He had made a brave effort over two years to sleep in the same bed with her, but had finally admitted, rather shamefacedly and with dark circles under his eyes, that it simply wasn't working for him. The subconscious knowledge that there was someone else right next to him was too disturbing to his sleep. They had found the solution of two beds side-by-side to be acceptable to both of them. They were both able to slide over to the other person for intimacy and contact; in fact, they started out that way most nights when they both went to bed at the same time. But Severus was also able to withdraw to his own space, which he needed.

Now, Severus immediately moved over his own mattress and onto Hermione's, putting his arm over her and nuzzling her neck.

Hermione giggled throatily. "Goodness, that doesn't feel like a seventy-five-year-old." She ran her hand up his arm and onto his bare chest. It excited her that he hadn't even bothered to put on his pajama top. She slid her hand down to check-- nor pants. Oh my.

"And how would you know?" he responded, placing gentle kisses up her neck and jaw until he reached her mouth.

"Mmm," Hermione answered, eagerly welcoming Severus' tongue against hers with a flood of pleasure. If it had been entirely up to her, they would have made love more often, but she knew that his age, and its physical manifestations, were slowly catching up with him. True, there were potions and spells that could encourage or enhance his libido, but she felt that there would be something tawdry about using them. He probably would have, for her, had she said anything. After he had died of embarrassment. And so she would never mention it. She had knowingly married a man who was twenty years her senior, after all, and not (just) for the sex. Their sex life hadn't been fantastic, or entirely easy, in the early days and weeks. But she knew that Severus was trying, and she had tried, too, to be patient and understanding, and as they had grown closer emotionally, their physical intimacy had also grown in intensity and depth, until neither of them was left wanting in any capacity. She could honestly say that Severus completely fulfilled her, in every way: physically, emotionally, intellectually.

His breath was hot and fast on her now, moving down to her neck again as he caressed her breast with his hand, scratching over her nipple through the nightgown with his thumbnail. Hermione wriggled up against him and stroked his back, gently pressing his body closer to hers. It was true, what she had said about feeling important to be married to him. Even before he had become venerated publically for his achievements, she had recognized his power, and that had been a great aphrodisiac. Now, too, she was well aware of the increase in his abilities, and the knowledge that he was still faithful to her, and that he was deeply emotionally bound to her, only increased her desire for him.

He shifted down and started to tease her with his teeth instead, while with his hand he gathered up the skirt of her nightgown and shoved it up so that he could massage her inner thigh, letting his thumb brush over her most sensitive spot, then applying an intermittent, gentle pressure through her knickers.

She was cradling his head against her breast and was about to move her leg farther away in order to give him more access and signal her desire, when she suddenly remembered; she pushed him back and sat up.

"It's your birthday today," she whispered, then leaned down to take his lower lip between her teeth. She hitched up her skirt and straddled him, running her hands up and down the length of his body and kissing him deeply. She could feel the hard ridge of his excitement under her bottom, and she rubbed herself against it.

"Evanesco," Severus muttered against her mouth, and she suddenly felt hot skin slipping over hot skin. She lost more undergarments that way. Deciding to act before he Vanished her nightgown as well, she straightened up and luxuriantly removed the garment. Severus' hands were quick to reach out and feel her waist, squeeze her hips. She leaned forward and was immediately rewarded with his fingers expertly plying the heavy orbs of flesh brushing against his chest. She could just barely make out his eyes in the semi-darkness; they were open, watching her, alert to her every response. She loved that he watched her, that he wanted to see her reacting to him.

She slid her pelvis back and forth against his, and heard his breath catch, then increase in intensity in response. Reaching down, she lifted him up to the right angle and positioned herself just over him, letting him just brush her opening, dipping down briefly, then away again. It was a decisive moment; he had lost his temper with her more than once at this point and flipped her over, snatching the control away from her. But tonight the sensations were not overwhelming him, driving him to distraction; they were more mellow, with a deeper tone, more like pure dark chocolate than fancy, syrupy confections, and he enjoyed the fact that Hermione wanted to please him perhaps more than the physical pleasure itself.

Finally, she lowered herself all the way and leaned forward again to kiss him slowly and languorously, at the same time clenching him tightly inside her, before she began to move again. They had been together for thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of discovery, disappointment, delight, despair, drama, diapers, depression, and devotion. It wasn't all present at all times, but tonight, it was. Tonight, as they moved together, the reality of their shared life was expressed in every breath, every gasp, every contraction, and every tear.

Afterwards, Severus lay with his thin arms around his wife, and held her until she slept, recalling another night, long ago, when he had done the same thing. And now, as then, he gave up a little bit of comfort, a single night of sleep, for the woman that he loved.

_AN: Gosh. Moved myself to tears with that, I did. --sniff-- That's really all, guys. Hope you enjoyed it. Send cookies if you did. Cheers!_


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